


The Road South

by Angelfire2021



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Internal Conflict, Jealousy, Public Blow Jobs, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Smut, Threats of Violence, Threesome - F/M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2020-08-19 23:27:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 27,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20218045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelfire2021/pseuds/Angelfire2021
Summary: A follow up to "A girl wanted more" which you can find here https://archiveofourown.org/works/19778332After the Long Night, Arya joins The Hound travelling to King's Landing. But Arya thought they made a deal on the battlements and it seems Sandor might be a little reluctant.However, it appears there were other opportunities for Arya to explore her sexuality after her first experience.





	1. We had a Deal

“So what was it like then?” the Hound asked. “Killing the Night King.” He coaxed his mare along the King’s Road. It had stopped drizzling, but the cloud was grey and low. Hardly a glorious dawn after the supposed Long Night.

Arya considered the question for a moment. “No different from killing any other man, really.”

The Hound nodded. “Must've felt good stabbing the fucker though.”

The girl rode beside him on her own black horse. Her face sported the bruised eye and scabbed forehead from the battle. The Hound saw she had an intensity which for now chased away the innocent grey eyes. He knew it had been her first battle. Killing one man, or even half a dozen in a skirmish, was nothing compared to the stench of battle. The smell of the dead had mingled with the shit and piss emitted by the dying bodies, and everywhere you looked there were severed limbs and stinking entrails. Sometimes the aftermath was as challenging to handle as the battle itself

“I thought he had me.” It was the closest Arya had felt to death when she looked into those cold blue eyes, she’d not just seen then end but something terrible beyond. A place where the soul lived on inside the dead bodies, the carcasses of those who once were living. Souls tortured forever as they stared out of dead eyes with no control of what they did. “There was so much power as he held me.” Arya shivered. “For a second, I felt the icy chill spread through my body. If I'd have hesitated for a moment, he would have taken me. I wouldn't have been dead, but I wouldn't have been alive either.”

“And then you stabbed the fucker.”

“And then I stabbed the cunt.” Arya allowed a smile to play across her lips. “When the steel entered his heart, there was a brief look of terror on his face. I think he realised it was Valerian steel and it was over.”

“Now that was a fucking good moment.” Sandor gave a little grin himself. He was actually proud of the Stark girl. It seemed not so long since she was an irritating flea with her list, and always whining about something.

“So I killed the Night King,” Arya said.

“No need to go on about it.” The Hound said. “Plenty of other bad fuckers out there to kill.”

“But what about our deal?” Arya unhooked her water pouch and took a drink. She wished it was wine.

“What fucking deal?”

“You said if I killed the Night King, you'd fuck me again.”

Sandor looked around at Arya in shock. He expected her have a wry smile on her face, but she was looking straight ahead drinking from her pouch.

“I say a lot of stupid fucking things when I'm drunk and about to die.”

“So you’re saying fucking me was a stupid thing?”

“I never said that.”

“Why, did you not enjoy it? Was I not good enough?" Arya kept looking straight on as the horses trotted on along the rough road leading them south.

She swallowed the water, trying to hide her embarrassment. She couldn't get the night out of her mind. In the aftermath of the Long Night, when she was drinking at the celebration, it was being taken by the Hound which Arya kept recalling. Not Gendry, not the battle, but the feeling of the Sandor Clegane inside her as she leaned over the battlements.

Arya had thought she was going to die as the Night King’s cold hand gripped her. Being so close to death, and having defeated it, had set off urges in her body she needed to satisfy.

“I always enjoy fucking,” the Hound said. “And you were good enough.”

“Why I’m so glad I satisfied you Ser Clegane.” Arya put back her water pouch and gave a theatrical bow from her house. What she really wanted to do was punch his crooked nose.

“I’m not a fucking Knight.”

“Oh, I know that.” Arya adopted the most sarcastic tone she could. “You have the manners of a fucking goat herder.”

“You didn’t want to fuck me for my manners, girl.” The Hound growled. Why wouldn’t she leave him alone?

There were a few moments of silence as the horses kept up their pace. They had to move aside for a small wagon pulled by a skinny looking donkey with matted fur. There was fruit in the back, but Arya thought it smelt off and didn’t bother looking to buy any. The driver, a squat man with a bushy black beard, eyed them with suspicion. Arya gave him a nod as they passed by. It reminded her of some of the people they had met when she had first ridden with the Hound. Innocent people, he cut down for few coppers.

“I could have gone with Gendry.” Arya was still smarting. She knew it was stupid to be mad at Sandor. While he might not be as bloodthirsty as he used to be, he was still a prick most of the time. “Could have been heading to Dragonstone and be living the life of a court lady. He asked me to marry him.”

"Why didn't you?” Sandor scoffed. “His cock not but big enough.”

Arya had to stop herself laughing at his answer. She liked Gendry, but the idea of being a Lady, and virtually under the command of the Lord didn’t appeal to Arya. She couldn't do what Sansa was very good at. Sitting and listening to endless villagers and townsfolk complaining about this and that, and always wanting something. Arya couldn't see Gantry being happy if she disappeared off to root out some injustice in the world. Or if she decided to slip down into the dungeon to cut the throats of any murderers, Gendry would probably insist it wasn’t the right way to go about ruling people. She was glad he was her first, but that night she’d realised she never wanted to be tied down to one man, and there were plenty of men in the world to discover.

“Big enough, just don't want it to be the only one for the rest of my life. I want to explore the world.”

“Aye, there are plenty of cocks out there alright. Enough for that tight little cunt of yours.”

Sandor cringed at his words, though he suspected she wasn't offended. Not that he usually gave a fuck about offending people anyway. But in the cold light of day, everything had changed. He couldn't help but feel he was riding next to a fearless fighter. She’d gone up against the Night King. Carved her way through the undead, and even when he’d been forced to pluck her from their grasp when they threatened to overwhelm her, Sandor had seen the determination in her eyes to see the job through.

Arya had battled on in the face of impossible odds, while he'd shit himself. As much as he loved to recall from the drunken haze of the time he spent with Arya on the battlements, the resounding feeling he had from the night was panic overtaking him as the Wights broke through and fire spread.

He was sure he was going to die a fiery death.

It had only been when Berric had shown him Arya, fighting for her life against impossible odds, that he'd been dragged from his stupor to help. And for that, he'd been willing to die as Berric sacrificed himself so Sandor could haul the girl to safety. The Hound had been ready to die if it meant that Arya could live.

And it wasn't just about some prophecy that Melisandre might have come up with, but it was about Arya and the time they’d spent together. When he'd scooped her up and pulled her from the clutches of the Wights, Sandor had felt like a father rescuing his child from certain death. And the pride he’d felt when he found out it had been Arya who'd slain the Night King was immense.

It reminded him of the girl who'd travelled on his horse across Westeros as he's sought to trade her for gold. He knew the time together had changed him, and it had altered Arya. In many ways, the Hound saw in her the heartless killer he was, and it pained him. He didn't want her to have the intense, emotionless stare for the rest of her life.

When he thought about her naked body on the battlements, his loins stirred. Yes, it had been good. Real fucking good. But if she was going to get all needy about it, then she could fuck off. He wasn’t Arya’s lapdog to service her when she felt like it.

He had a brother to kill.

“And did you approve of my tight little cunt," Arya’s voice dripped with irony. “Did the rest meet your satisfaction, your majesty.”

“Too skinny.” The Hound spat. “Tiny titties.”

“You fucking rotten bastard.” Arya halted her horse and gripped the reins tightly, almost tempted to grab her dagger and go after the Hound.

Instead, she shouted after him. “There were plenty of men in this world there would be happy to fuck me.”

“Then go and fuck them and leave me alone.”

He didn't even glance around, just carried on riding and looking forward. He knew it was a shit thing to say, but Sandor wanted her to shut the fuck up and get on with riding towards Kings Landing. Some of the others might have had a better way of talking to her. Not so brash, less painful.

They were all dead now.


	2. Camp out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seemingly on his own the Hound finds a campsite for the night. But before he settles for the night someone appears to be down by the river. 
> 
> He might not have meant to, but Sandor finds himself feasting on rather a luscious vision.

Glancing up Sandor saw the sun was dropping below the horizon. He’d spent the rest of the afternoon riding down the Kings Road on his own. He knew Arya was about. The Hound could feel her eyes drilling into his back like steel daggers. Every time he stopped to stretch or dropped off his mount to walk for a while, a look back would reveal Arya thirty or forty strides behind. For the first hour, he’d wondered if she was pissed enough to attack him.

Deciding he was done travelling for the day, the Hound steered his horse off the Kings Road. Dismounting, he walked the animal and manoeuvred it down a narrow a bridleway through the trees where he knew they were close to the river. Stumbling upon what appeared to be a previously used campsite, Sandor hobbled the horse before gathering deadfall for a small fire. He looked out for Arya, but there was no sign.

“Stupid girl.” Sandor shook his head, and after filling a cooking pot with water from the river, he threw in some dried meat and a few mushrooms he’d found growing near the riverbank. Once it was cooked, he poured the concoction into a wooden bowl and used a hunk of bread as a spoon. The mushrooms made it smell like old cheese, but it tasted good enough.

Day had given way to the darkness of night. There was still no sign of the girl.

Sander wasn’t sure what he felt. They might have defeated the Night King, but Westeros was still in a shit state. There were more wars to fight. Evil fuckers like his brother to kill. Despite what she was capable of, and what she’d done, Arya was still a kid with her life ahead of her. A shit life if all she wanted to was kill fuckers. But a life none the less. He understood the desire to kill those who’d caused her family so much pain. All he’d done for most of his life was kill any cunt that stood in his way, or who he was ordered to.

Until he’d met the Stark sisters.

Sandor hadn’t given a shit about anyone for as long as he could remember until he’d snatched Arya to take her back home. She’d been a right pain in the arse. An ungrateful little bitch. And yet he’d fought for her against that damned woman. Then he’d fought for the living. Hauled her arse from the clutches of those fucking wights.

He thought about Arya somewhere out in the woods. Was she asleep, her chest gently rising and falling? Maybe she was reciting that fucking list of hers again. Sandor shook his head. Did he actually miss not having her riding with him?

“You stupid fucking cunt Sandor,” He muttered before stamping out the last remnants of his fire and tossing what was left of the water on the hot embers. They hissed violently, and steam rose into the cold night air.

As he lay back to settle for the night, the Hound thought he heard the sound of a snapping branch. Immediately on alert, Sandor grabbed his sword. Unsheathing the blade, he stepped to the edge of his camp-site, leaning against a tree to listen. A gentle breeze rustled the branches, an owl hooted, and in the distance, there was the howl of wolves. But something was pushing through the branches and stepping across the floor of the wood. It could have been an animal, but Sander suspected it was a man.

The Hound quietly crept between the trees himself. It was difficult to avoid making noise in the darkness when you couldn’t see what was underfoot. There was a half-moon, and through the trees, he could see a silvery glow glinting off the river, but it provided little illumination to those who wished to move through the wood undetected.

More noise came from the river, and he moved to investigate. Approaching the water's edge, Sandor took position behind a thick trunk and peered between the tree’s branches. There was a figure on the side of the water.

A cloud flitted in front of the half-moon, and all he could see was the shadowy shape of a woman appearing to fill a water pouch. As the moon re-emerged Sandor recognised Arya. He shook his head, trying to avoid laughing out loud as he realised she’d followed him to the campsite after all but was obviously still pissed. Despite her appearance of a cold bitch, she was still a precocious teenager.

He was about to creep away when Arya stood, placed the water pouch on the rotten trunk of a fallen tree half in the water, and stretched her arms above her shoulders. Wary she might turn and head back to her camp the Hound paused before moving, glancing around for a better hiding place in case he needed it. Perhaps if he were better when it came to relating to people, Sandor would've strode over and invited Arya into his camp so they could be travelling companions again.

But he was enjoying the solitude after so long being in the company of others, and while he liked Arya's companionship, a day of her gaze boring into his soul had made him quite happy to spend the night alone.

However, Sandor found it curious there was an element of comfort in knowing that she was near and haven't ridden off and left him.

Arya’s hands went to the top of her trousers before pushing them down her legs. The Hound froze, concerned she was about to take a piss; a vision he didn’t want to be party to. She then kicked off her boots and pushed the trousers over her feet before stepping out of them.

As he watched her place them on the trunk next to the water pouch, Sandor breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn't about to take a piss after all. Her hands disappeared in front of her, and the Hound found himself watching and holding his breath in expectation. Sure enough, after undoing the buttons of her tunic, Arya shrugged it off her shoulders and cast it aside. Almost immediately she grabbed the bottom of her undershirt, stripping it off to reveal her bare back glistening in the moonlight.

Sander swallowed.

He knew he should move away. But he was transfixed as the girl’s hands then moved to her waist and slipped the smallclothes down her slim but firm thighs. As she dropped the smallclothes with the rest of the garments, her naked body was revealed to the hidden watcher.

There was a part of Sandor screaming at him to avert his gaze. Calling himself a cunt for watching the young assassin undress. Yet the sight of the silvery glow of the moon glinting off the girl’s naked pale white skin had him rooted to the spot. Her body might not be as full or as wholesome as the wenches he paid for in the brothels, but there was something about Arya’s lithe and well-toned figure that stirred the animal desire within him.

Clothes discarded, she stepped into the river; giving a tiny squeal as the freezing water lapped up her legs onto her pale thighs. Arya flicked her head around for a moment, as though seeing if anyone had been disturbed by the noise.

The Hound, his heart thumping and barely able to breathe, ducked behind the tree. He waited for a moment, listening to Arya’s deep breaths as she immersed herself in the river and conditioned her body to the shock. Now was the time for him to go back to his bed.

The image of her naked butt in the moonlight flashed in Sandor’s mind. The memory of her bent across the battlements inviting him to enter her gripped him. He peered back around the tree.

Arya only stayed in the water for enough time to fully submerge her head and body. He could tell she was shivering as the young assassin stepped slowly out of the water, wringing soaked hair with her hands. The moonlight reflected off the glistening water on Arya's body as she stood back on the bank. Sandor could see every curve of her stunning figure. He was close enough to see her firm breasts; nipples stiff from their exposure to the cold. 

His eyes lingered on their shape before sliding down the flat stomach and onto the perfect mound between her legs. His cock stiffened. It seemingly had its own memory of the night on the wall at Winterfell. Especially how good it had felt inside her tight cunt. Arya put her hands behind the head as she squeezed more of the water from a hair. An action that only served to push her small but perfectly formed breasts out further.

Once again, Sandor Clegane told himself the honourable thing was to walk away. It was wrong to spy on a lady in such a manner. Instead, his hands untied the rope keeping his trousers aloft before slipping inside to free his solid member. The rush of cold air felt good. Watching Arya use her hands to rub the excess water off her limbs felt good.

As wrong as it was to watch the young female naked in the moonlight, it added to the breathless excitement as Sandor’s hand began to work on the shaft of his thick cock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy. Please keep the comments and Kudos coming. :)


	3. Being a tease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya realises someone is spying on her at the rivers and wonders what will happen.

Arya wasn't sure if it was the Hound, but she had sensed something moving in the trees and was convinced there was a spy. While it might have appeared as though she was being reckless when it could have been someone meaning harm, she doubted it. Besides, Needle was already resting on the rotten trunk she used for her clothes, and she was confident she would have it in her hand before anyone could get close.

Arya had seen where Sandor had made his camp. Another reason she didn’t feel in any danger. He was hardly going to allow some random thugs to roam the woods near him unchecked.

She’d decided to bed down away from him, but close enough she’d know when he left in the morning. By then, she might be willing to ride with him again.

Arya was still pissed about the way he’d talked to her. It was though he suddenly saw her as the kid when they had first met. Naïve and unable to look after herself. Someone not really worth his time. Pretty god damn different from the moment when she had his cock in her mouth.

Then he was happy enough she was a woman and capable of taking on any bastard in Westeros. Was he pissed because she was his equal now? Because he’d nearly pissed his pants during the Long Night while Arya had launched herself against the Night King? Did he still want to see her as the pathetic girl who rode with him years ago? Or did it hurt his ego that the fighter he’d plucked from the arms of the undead had gone on to be the hero of Winterfell?

Arya didn’t want to be a fucking hero. She’d just wanted it to be over and her family safe. Being angry at him wasn’t about going back on the deal. It was about him treating her like she should be beneath him.

She’d planned to go into the river to fill her water pouches and wash off some of the travelling grime. When there was a suspicion the bastard watching her, Arya decided to strip and show Sandor what he was missing out on. It wouldn’t do any harm to wash more of her body. Despite having a hot bath at Winterfell, it seemed almost impossible to clean off the stench of the undead.

Yet the moment she was naked Arya became extremely self-conscious of the potential voyeur. Was her body firm enough? Were the scars horrid to look at? Even in the pale moonlight?

Deciding to take the plunge, Arya slipped into the river, instantly regretting her hasty decision as freezing water forced the air from her chest until she controlled her breathing. At the same time it was hugely invigorating and despite the goosebumps spreading across her skin, she mentally shrugged off the cold.

After ducking under the freshwater to soak every part of her body, Arya finally felt clean again. It was as though it took the fresh cold water to wipe clean those parts the wights had touched as they’d groped at her body. Pushing from the water and back into the night air, everything felt, tasted and smelt a little fresher. Cleaner even.

Climbing back onto the bank, Arya deliberately faced the woods as she squeezed the water from her wet hair. Thrusting out her hips and breasts, she made sure the half-moon reflected off her pale skin and gave the watcher a full flash. The doubts about her body vanished. She was Arya Stark of Winter fell and toned to perfection. If anyone didn’t like it, they could fuck off.

As she began flicking the water off her body with her hands, there was a crack of a branch from the trees where she’d been sure someone was hiding.

“Who’s there?” Arya demanded, grabbing Needle from the rotten trunk. Still naked, she brandished her blade towards the trees. “Show yourself. Or are you too cowardly to face a woman and would rather spy on her from the trees.”

There was a further rustling, and it sounded as if the voyeur was scurrying away through the woods. Arya smiled to herself, convinced that it was the Hound. Of course, there still was the chance it could have been some rogue, but it was a thought which only served to excite her more. Arya felt a tingling in a body that some stranger could have been watching her. She stretched her arms again, feeling a warm sensation between her legs despite her exposure to the cold night air.

When she shivered, it wasn’t because of her naked dip in the water.

Picking up her clothes, she moved back between the trees still brandishing needle. Arya knew she was still being reckless but was confident if she came upon a thug in the woods, she’d be able to take him down with or without clothes.

Her fire was burning low, and Arya tossed on a few dead branches she’d gathered earlier and basked in the heat. She half expected, half hoped the Hound would come over to her and insist they camp together. The stupid thing was while she hated him treating her as a kid she still felt a desire for his companionship. And still harboured the memory of the breathless feeling of pure erotic pleasure as he’d taken her over the battlements of her home.

The stupid thing was having turned down the chance to spend her life with Gendry, someone who loved her, because she wanted freedom. Yet at the same time, she didn't like being alone and desired the presence of a foul-mouthed bastard who’d spent most of his life killing for fun.

Allowing the flames to dry the droplets off her bare skin, Arya boiled some herbs, creating a concoction of tea with a few drops on tansy and pennyroyal. She sipped the bitter-tasting brew and actually wondered if there was any point. Wine would probably have been more appropriate.

As it didn’t seem the bastard was going to pay her a visit. Obviously just preferring to spy on her nudity instead, and Arya was wide awake after her cold swim in the river, she decided to do a little snooping herself.

Grabbing the Valyrian dagger, she moved from her camp-site. Maybe she could sneak up on him and slide the edge along the rough skin of his throat and demand he stuck to the deal. The thought made her giggle as she crept between the trunks and branches of the ancient woodland. Occasional sharp twigs would attempt to piece her bare skin, but she ignored them. The thrill of slipping naked through the night on a mission kept a warm glow in her body.

His fire was failing as Arya neared. Just bright orange and red embers sending tiny sparks dancing into the night air. At first, she couldn’t see him. Arya paused, tensing and listening, afraid he was going to sneak up behind her. Though the thought of his large hand clamping over her mouth before he picked her up and carried her squealing to his camp sent a shiver of pleasure pulsing around her nude body.

But on listening, there was a sound that didn’t belong to the woods and was sure to scare off any would-be predators. Stepping as close as she dared, Arya separated some of the branches to get a better view of the camp. Sure enough, his prone body was lay on the other side of the fire. She had to hold herself back from rushing over and driving the dagger into his stupid ugly face.

After spying on her, the bastard was fast asleep and didn’t give a shit about what he’d seen.


	4. Awkward!!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After having watched the female assassin in the night, Sandor has an awkward reunion before they continue their travels.

Arya was sat on her dark brown horse by the side of the King’s Road as the Hound made his way out of the wood. He’d checked on her camp and seen she'd already left, surmising she must have still been pissed off. There’d been a twinge of regret. An emotion that infuriated Sandor because it only served to fuel his ongoing conflict. For the most part, the Hound wanted to travel with his own thoughts about what was to come, and have no responsibilities. But then again there was something about the girl that even when they rode in silence it felt comforting to have her beside him.

When he saw her by the road, there was a small leap of joy followed by a growl of irritation. She might not have been smiling, but he was sure there was a smirk lurking underneath. Or was it a frown of disapproval?

It was that uncontrollable reaction to her presence, which often had Sandor desperate for solitude. He'd vowed never to take orders from anyone. Only to act on his own instinct and conscience, and yet he felt that when he was Arya presence, she so fucked with his head, it made him question everything. And it also had him trying to turn his thoughts away from the images of her naked body and the feeling of how good it was to be inside her.

He actually chuckled to himself as he rode up to her, thinking how Gendry had had a lucky escape. Married to this little minx, the Hound was sure it wouldn't have been long before she was the one who called the shots on whatever shitty lands they’d given Gendry to rule.

“Not travelling alone now are we?” Sandor kept his horse moving along the road, passing Arya has he did so.

She gave a flick of her reins, guiding her own mount until they were riding side-by-side. “Troubled times,” she said. “I hear there is safety in numbers.”

“Any cunt bothers you then just stick them in the fucking heart with your pointy end.”

“There were strange sounds in the night though,” Arya said. “Creatures moving in the woods. Didn't you hear them?”

“Probably fucking squirrels.”

“Sounded a bit big for squirrels. More like wolves. Or a large dog maybe.”

The hound saw Arya was still looking ahead, but he was almost certain there was a smirk just turning up the corner of her lips. Did she know he been watching her? He felt his face go warm and was sure the skin would be turning red. He hadn't fucking blushed for years, and a surge of embarrassed anger consumed him. For a moment Sandor wanted to pick Arya up off her horse and hurl her into the forest before riding off for good. Instead he gritted his teeth and allowed the emotion to pass, determined not to let the girl get to him.

“I thought the wolves were your friends.” Is the only thing he could think of saying.

“That must've been it,” Arya nodded. “Perhaps they were looking after me, you know a lone girl in the woods. You never know what depraved folk could have been creeping about and looking to take advantage of such an innocent person. At least the wolves were there to keep me safe.”

The Hound ground his teeth before reaching down to yank the water pouch from his belt and take an uncomfortable drink. He was sure that Arya had given him a sly glance while he was doing so, and was utterly enjoying herself.

“Of course, people going back on their word can’t really be trusted,” Arya continued. “But as you're the only companion I know, I guess beggars can't be choosers.”

“You’ve forgiven me then?” Sandor muttered.

“Oh no.” Arya shook her head. “A lady scorned is a very dangerous lady. But if the wolves aren’t around, then maybe a big ugly fucker like you will keep the deviants away. Unless you are one of them?”

She looked at him inquiringly, and Sandor almost choked on his water.

“Fuck off.” Was the best he could offer as a retort.

One thing was for sure, he wasn’t going to admit watching her even if she suspected it. The image of her by the river made him uncomfortable, as did the swelling in his breeches. The little bitch would have him under her thumb given half a chance.

They continued their ride south along the King’s Road. It was mainly in silence to start with, but after they had stopped to water the horses and eat, the curiosity had got the better of Sandor and her training, especially in Braavos.

They still passed ordinary folk trying to return to their Northern homes since the threat there seemed to have been dealt with, and the rumour of war in the south grew. Some just hurried passed, not acknowledging Sandor and Arya, while a few gave them curious looks. None got in their way.

During the afternoon, the grey clouds dropped lower, and a fine drizzle filled the air. While Sandor donned his cloak, he noted Arya remained upright in her saddle, the tiny silver flecks of water landing on her dark hair. Even as the drizzle turned to rain she seemed unfazed, and though conversation had stopped, she didn’t seem inclined to allow the elements to cower her. It was what Sandor remembered of her when they first met. A small and feisty teen unbroken by the rotten fucking world. Perhaps that was some of the conflict within him about her. Because he still saw so many aspects of the younger Arya behind her often sombre expression. A girl he came to like and wanted to protect.

“I need wine,” he growled. “A lot of fucking wine.”

“There’s an Inn ahead,” Arya used a glove to wipe the rain off her forehead as she turned to face him. “It will be dark before we get there. But there’s someone I know works in the kitchens. You might remember him too.”

Sandor frowned. “Most of the fuckers I knew are dead.”

“A few managed to avoid you delivering their souls to the gods.” Arya smiled. “And the last time I saw him he called me pretty. It will be nice to see someone who appreciates me for once.” She raised her eyebrows before turning to face the road once more.

Sandor shook his head. “Sounds like a right cunt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder who it could be. And what will happen. Somehow I don't think Arya is going to let the Hound's disrespect go.


	5. Crossroads Inn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay. I've now written a good few of the next chapters and planned the rest so I'm hoping for a rapid release over the next couple of weeks.
> 
> Arya and Sandor eventually reach shelter and a dark and stormy night. Arya bumps into an old friend in and embarrassing situation.

The light rain turned to a steady downpour as the afternoon slipped away and the clouds grew darker and thicker. Every item of clothing Arya wore was soaked through. Even her underclothes squelched every time she moved in the saddle. At least the Hound’s leather cloak wrapped around his body so effectively the rain seemed to bounce off. Though he complained large drips were sneaking under his shirt as darkness fell. Arya thought he was moaning just to emphasise the fact she hadn’t travelled with suitable clothing. Especially as she was from the North.

She quietly had to admit to herself that he was right.

At one point he had sarcastically offered her the use of his cloak, but Arya stoically refused, remaining straight-backed and defiant as the rain fell. More than once, she cursed herself for being pig-headed, and she would glance slyly out of the corner of her eye, jealous of Sandor’s garment. Arya decided she would buy a similar cloak after Cersei was dead. One that did the job and didn’t just look good.

Acutely aware the packs on her horse didn’t contain any significant spare clothes either, Arya realised she might’ve learned a complex set of killing skills in Braavo’s, but basic knowledge on travelling luggage might’ve also been useful.

The King’s Road became a mud track, and the two riders dismounted for the final stint, not wanting their mounts to miss their footing in the darkness. Arya’s boots were soaked, and she started to shiver. Having almost given in and asked Sandor for the use of his cloak, they saw the swinging lanterns of the Crossroads Inn. The thought of a hot fire, perhaps a bath, and some warm food quickened their steps.

“We only got one room and one bed,” the Innkeeper said, “plenty of room for horses though. Sleep with them if you want.” It had taken a while to summon him when they’d entered the accommodation part of the complex. People were hurrying about looking harassed, but Arya couldn’t see Hot Pie.

“We’ll take the room,” Arya said, she didn’t look to see the Hound’s reaction. “Is there a bath?”

The innkeeper looked the sodden young assassin up and down. He gave a big sigh, and there was a softening of his gaze. “We’ve a small room out back with a fire. The roof leaks, no money to fix it, but it’s private enough. I’d let you sleep there, but it could be knee-deep by the morning. Be okay for a bath though. I’ll have to get one of the kitchen staff to sort it. Wife is in bed with a bloody headache. Today of all days. And one girl hasn’t turned up.” He shook his head, wiping sweat off his shiny scalp.

“You doing food?” the Hound asked. The man seemed to carry on muttering even when the Hound was speaking. “Most food has been done, we still got chicken and pies though. The common room is full. Folks sheltering from the rain and not buying a bloody thing. How we supposed to afford to keep going if people don’t pay? There’s a room next to the kitchen the staff normally use. We can serve you in there. A few people already using it for a dice game, but at least they’re paying. Good people. From the village. Locals.”

“I don’t give a shit where I eat as long as it’s hot and there’s ale.” The Hound grunted.

“Well, we’ve got plenty of ale. Wine too. We have our special mulled wine. Nice had warm for a night like tonight. Not cheap mind, not cheap at all, but you look like the sort of folks who appreciate quality.” The Innkeeper gave them a wink, and he looked more cheerful as though he’d suddenly realised he might have some decent paying customers.

“I’ll have some,” Arya said. She’d tasted it at Walder Frey’s castle. Drank some while cooking in the kitchens, and she needed to get the cold out of her bones.

“Excellent,” The Innkeeper beamed. “Not cheap mind, but worth it. I’ll have some sent in with the bath.” The burly man opened a door behind him. “Hot bath in the back room with mulled wine pronto.” The barked command was so loud it made Arya jump. He was all smiles again when he turned back to face them. “You better get out of those wet clothes and get your room sorted.”

Sandor fished in his pouch and extracted the required coins. The Innkeeper took the money and handed over a brass key. The Hound and Arya walked down the corridor and clambered up a narrow set of wooden stairs which eventually led to the room.

As they entered, Arya saw a generous double bed dominated the room.

If the sleeping arrangements bothered the Hound, he didn’t say anything as he threw his pack on the chair after hanging his cloak inside the crude wardrobe.

“I better dry mine by the fire when I’m having a bath.” Arya poked at her soaked garments.

“It will be better than dripping all over the fucking bed like you are now.” The hound pulled a damp piece of sackcloth out of one of his packs and began to dry his hair. He nodded to where the water was dripping from Arya’s sleeves.

She pulled her hands back. “I’ve not got anything else to wear, so I hope they dry quick.”

The Hound laughed. “Fucking no chance. Maybe you should take your chance with the stables. Horses won’t mind seeing your big naked ass.”

“Maybe you should find the kennels to sleep in.”

“Go and have your nice cosy bath milady.” Sandor gave a mock curtsy as he sneered at her.

“I will,” Arya said. “I just hope there is no one thinking about spying on me this time. They might see my big old butt.”

Before she could hear any reply or see the expression on Sandor’s face, Arya slammed the door shut and stomped down the wooden corridor. Despite having tried to drain her boots before they entered the Inn, Arya could still feel them squelching with each step.

She quickly found the room the innkeeper had told her about and was pleased to see the fire already burning. There was also a good amount of water in the tin bath, pulled up in front of the flames. The roof was dripping in several places. Wooden buckets were being used to catch most of the rainwater, but the fire was large enough to heat the room up nicely. There was a knee-high table holding a small jug of mulled wine and a wooden goblet. Pouring her first drink, Arya swallowed it back, loving the feeling of the warm fruity taste as it slid down her throat. The spices tickled her nose and were a little strong for her liking. But they filled her with a satisfyingly warm glow.

After pouring another goblet full, Arya peeled off her drenched clothes. Wringing them out the best she could, she then lay them out around the fireplace. Steam rose off the garments as the heat of the fire grew, and Arya hoped they’d dried quickly. There was a pile of thick logs in the corner, and she tossed one on the flames to ensure a good burn. Despite the heat from the fire, Arya’s damp body shivered violently. Not even waiting to test the water in the tub, Arya to stepped in and pushed her bottom down. She winced as the heat reddened her bare white skin but sank as low as she could, and allowed her chilled limbs to feel good again.

While the bath was only half full and barely covered her waist, Arya sighed and took another long drink of the wine she still held.

The door burst open, and a chubby male figure stumbled in carrying two more buckets of steaming water. Arya suddenly realised it wasn’t one of the serving girls that she’d expected and quickly covered her exposed breasts with one arm.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry milady,” the man said as the door swung shut behind him. He averted his gaze, but then looked back at the naked girl in the bath almost immediately. “Ary is that you?”

“Hot Pie,” Arya said, a broad smile on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Don't forget to smash that Kudos button.
> 
> And if you leave a comment I will reply. Always like to hear what works or doesn't work for people.
> 
> I'm also interested in good fanfic to read so point me to ones you think are awesome.


	6. Bathtime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is nothing like a nice hot bath after a day riding in horrible weather. Especially there is a little wine and a friend stops by.
> 
> Please note no rubber ducks were harmed in the writing of this scene. (I don't think they had them in Westeros)

“Are you going to stand there all day, or can a girl have the rest of the water?”

“I am sorry Ary, I mean milady it’s just…” Hot Pie went bright red and obviously didn’t know what to do with his eyes. He kept looking down, but his gaze kept wandering back to where Arya covered her breasts. Taking another sip of mulled wine, she giggled.

“Just pour it in here before it gets cold you silly sausage.”

“Yes, Lady Ary.” Hot Pie shuffled to the edge of the bath, his eyes growing wide as they drank in more of her body.

“And my name is Arya. I’m not a boy anymore.”

“Yes, I can see that milady.” Hot Pie swallowed as he poured one of the enormous buckets into the bath. The young cook still had a heavy belly and a chubby face, but Arya noticed his thick arms easily handled the heavy buckets of water. As he emptied the first, she delighted in the feel of the extra heat rising up her body.

“And don’t call me milady either. We’re friends.”

“Yes, Arya,” Hot Pie said hesitantly. He drained the second bucket, and another wave of hot water brought the level just above Arya’s breasts.

“That feels good,” she said, allowing herself to sink a little lower as she finished the last of the wine. “Would you pour me some more?” Arya smiled, holding up the wooden goblet. “I’d get it myself but, you know.” She glanced down at her submerged body. “And if you could pass me the soap too, I’d be ever so grateful.”

“No problem,” Hot Pie stammered. Shaking hands emptied the final dregs of wine into the goblet. He handed Arya the drink before passing her the soap.

Taking another sip of the wine, she kept an amused eye on Hot Pie who didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. The fact she made him so uncomfortable caused Arya’s body to tingle with more than the heat of the water. It felt as if she could command the young man to do anything, and he would obey. She’d heard people beg for their lives before and promise to do anything if only they would be spared. The power of life and death not only gave control but could be dangerously intoxicating. Something Jaqen had warned her about. He never mentioned she could almost achieve the same results with her sexuality.

“You act like you’ve never seen a naked girl in a bath before.” Arya teased. The strong wine combined with the hot bath in relaxing her body and mind. It felt good, and it gave her a happy feeling. She couldn’t remember when she’d last felt so mischievous.

“Normally it’s one of the women who does this for the lady guests,” Hot Pie, said wringing his hands on his apron. “Old Mrs Turpin, the innkeeper’s wife, but she’s got a headache, and Mr Turpin asked me to do it. I never would have barged in if I’d have known you were already down. Mr Turpin told me to get you when I was finished. Didn’t think you’d be here, you see.”

“So, you haven’t seen a naked girl in a bath before?” Arya took another sip of wine. Hot Pie shuffled his feet and look down. “Have you seen anyone naked before? A girl, I mean.”

“I saw one of the paid ladies once.” He continued to wipe his hands. “Mrs Turpin found her in one of the rooms with a gentlemen guest and threw her out. She didn’t have any clothes on. Got thrashed too.”

“By Mrs Turpin?”

Hot Pie nodded. “She doesn’t like none of that going on under her roof. Well, unless they’ve agreed a cut.”

“Well, I need somebody to rub this on my back.” Arya dampened the soap in the water and held it up, giving Hot Pie a questioning look. “And if there are no other ladies around, I’m sure Mrs Turpin won’t mind if you help out one of her guests.”

“I can see if I can find someone,” Hot Pie said. He looked startled and went bright red. But Arya noticed he didn’t move.

“You just have to rub it on my back; that’s all,” Arya said, “I’m not asking you to fuck me or anything.” Hot Pie looked as if his face was going to explode. “And then you can get me some more of the wonderful wine. I’m a paying guest after all.” She took another mouthful of drink, licking her lips as she did so. “And hurry, before the water goes cold. A Lady likes to luxuriate in the bath.” Leaning forward, Arya exposed her back to Hot Pie.

He sidled over and reached down. Taking the soap, his thick arms rubbed gingerly on her bare back.

“Put some effort in, you big lug. Kneel and give me a proper scrub.” Arya giggled and gulped down the rest of her warm drink. There was a fuzziness in her head, but it felt good to let go and have a little fun.

Hot Pie did as he was told. Rolling up his sleeves, the large youth knelt by the side of the bath and vigorously rubbed the soap across Arya’s back.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Arya shouted without thinking. She was bent forward with her eyes closed and enjoying the soapy water scouring her skin.

“Brought you something to wear.” The Hound announced as he walked in. On seeing Hot Pie bent over and rubbing Arya’s naked body, he looked aghast.

“Thank you, Sandor.” Arya looked around and grinned at the tall man. “This is hot Pie by the way. You remember him. He works here. Say hello.”

Hot pie span around and slid backwards on his knees as if he expected the Hound to attack him at any moment.

Sandor looked at the chubby pie and shook his head. “Still a fucking fat cunt then. Don’t worry, she’s not too fussy.” He nodded towards Arya, chucked an item of clothing across towards the hearth, and left the room.

Arya leapt up in the bath. “What do you fucking mean by that?” She shouted. But Sandor had already stomped off, and Arya realised she was giving Hot Pie a full-frontal flash of her nude body. “Oops,” she said and sank back into the water.

“I’ll get you more wine.” Hot Pie mumbled as he too hurried out of the room.


	7. A girl gets ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Arya is still in the bath.
> 
> Okay so a girl needs to spend some relaxing and getting ready. She's got a busy night ahead. Give poor Arya a break. :)

Arya giggled to herself as the door closed and sank into the lovely warm water as the heat from the roaring fire filled the room with sensuous steam. After a day in the saddle in the pouring rain Arya felt more relaxed than she had done in a long while. Despite the horror she’d witness and the dangers still to come, Arya felt she could drift off into a world where people could be happy, and laughter replaced screams.

The soap was perfumed, and it lathered up nicely in the warm tub, allowing her to have the first proper cleanse for as long as she could remember. Even at Winterfell before the long night there were so many people that warm water was a luxury. Washing the stench of the dead off her body after killing the Night King had been accomplished with cold brackish water fetched from a nearby stream.

Laying back, she wondered where Hot Pie had got to with the wine. She finished soaping her stomach and breasts as they bobbed up and down in the water. Steam still rose from the drying clothes, and she hoped the Hound shirt was clean. He never seemed to be too bothered about bathing.

Closing her eyes, Arya took some deep breaths, allowing the rose fragrance to fill her nose with its soothing scent. She thought about the room she’d be sharing with Sandor and the large bed. Maybe tonight he’d come good on the promise he’d made on the wall before the long night.

She remembered the feeling that night of both Gendry’s and Sandor’s cocks penetrating her maidenhood. Had it felt so good because they’d been so close to death and it had been the final chance for intense carnal lust? Even if it was, she wanted more. Wanted to experience the fierce explosion of pleasure in different ways.

Did it always feel that good? Arya recalled the feeling of her flesh being handled by the rough male hands. As her mind drifted, she unconsciously began rubbing the soap around her hardened nipples before sliding the slippery object down her stomach until it reached the cleft between legs. Arya gave a sigh of relaxed pleasure as she stroked it against the lips of her sex. She pressed it inside, exploring sensitive areas with the solid bar as she imagined a night where thick manhoods repeatedly penetrated her. Arya’s free hand began to caress one of her breasts, rolling the stiff nipple between her thumb and forefinger and arching her body in reaction to the stimulation. The soap pressed deeper between the lips of her sex. Her hand moving faster. Her breath getting shorter.

There was coughing from behind. Arya jumped up in the bath. Covering herself, she looked around to see Hot Pie holding the jug of wine.

“Sorry, it’s late milady.” His eyes were wide with astonishment, and the wine jug was shaking in his grip. “It’s really busy in the kitchens. I better go.” After placing the pitcher on the small table, he scuttled off as fast as his legs would carry him.

For a few moments, Arya knelt in the bath, aghast at what he might have witnessed. She then broke out into laughter, recalling the look his innocent face. More wine was definitely needed.

Still chuckling to herself, Arya stepped out of the bath and poured more of the warm spicy drink as she stood in front of the fire and allowed the heat to dry her skin naturally. Keeping her hands away from sensitive areas that still seemed to be demanding satisfaction, she wondered whether he’d come in again to see her. Arya glanced around to see if there were any cracks in the windows where some perverted watcher could watch her drying. The thought itself made the assassin want to slip her fingers inside her and explore the pleasure.

She swallowed more wine, and by the time her body had thoroughly dried, Arya pulled on the Hound’s shirt as her clothes were still wet. The rough linen came down to her knees. After doing up the buttons Arya rolled up the sleeves and used her still wet belt around her waist. Shaking damp hair, she squeezed it together and pushed it behind her ears.

“Underclothes.” She muttered herself. There was a spare set in the room so after draining another goblet, Arya left her clothes and slipped out of the door. On the way back to the room her legs appeared a little wobbly. She giggled again. Perhaps it would be a good idea to eat something before she drank much more. Though the Hound might prefer her drunk and docile.

Rushing up the steps, Arya reached the wooden door. It was locked. Banging on the wood elicited no response.

_Stupid bastard’s probably eating already,_ Arya thought and headed back down the stairs, annoyed that he hadn’t waited for her. But then again it was hardly surprising as the Innkeeper had mentioned chicken was on the menu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed. 
> 
> I'm trying to release a chapter a day at the moment. Thanks for the comments so far :)


	8. The Hound eats chicken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I thought you fair readers needed a break form all the sexual tension.
> 
> So in this chapter the Hound eats some chicken.
> 
> So as not to spoil the anticipation. I won't reveal how many chickens get eaten in this scene.
> 
> Hopefully I should get the next chapter up tonight.

The Hound stomped all away from Arya’s bathing chamber and up the stairs to their room. Stepping inside, he sat on the bed for a moment before shaking his head as if trying to dislodge the image of the fat boy and Arya from his head.

“Stupid fucking girl,” he muttered.

Sandor sat trying to work out if he should wait for Arya

“Fuck it.” He was hungry and needed drink; lots of drink.

The Hound left the room, locked the door strode downstairs still shaking his head. Passing through the common room he witnessed the mass of folk crammed in as they sheltered from the pouring rain. Sweating and stressed staff scurried amongst the tables with flagons of ale. Others balanced plates of cold meat and bread as they danced among the throng of people. Sandor could see there were only so many paying guests as the Innkeeper had said. Many figures huddled around the tables with long and hungry faces, their clothes sodden, spirits low. They simply waited for the heavy rains to pass they could get on with journey’s they hoped would take them to better times.

“The backroom?” Sandor grabbed a passing serving wench. “Turpin said I could eat there.”

The raven-haired girl gave him a startled look before gathering her wits. “Over through that door, sire.” With her hands full, she nodded to a crooked door towards the back of the common room and at the side of the bar. “Then down the corridor and on your left.”

Nodding his head, the Hound plunged through the mass of people. The air was heavy with thick smoke from the various pipes the patrons were puffing on. Above the noise, a minstrel in the corner near the large open fire provided some light relief as he plucked on his lute. Paying guests sat nearby clapped appreciatively, though not in time.

Slipping through the door, the Hound followed the serving girl’s instructions until he found the right place. Inside there four roundtables huddled against the wall opposite a small hearth fire. The seating was a jumble of benches, chairs and uncomfortable-looking stools that balanced unevenly on the warped wooden floorboards.

Three men occupied one table, drinking ale and occasionally throwing a pair of dice as they wagered with small coins. They looked the newcomer up and down while gazes paused upon Sandor’s scarred face for a moment, they soon went back to the game after acknowledging him with a nod.

The Hound took up a table with his back to the wall so he could observe the room. Wooden crates stacked up in one corner, and brooms and buckets in another were testaments to the room’s true nature.

The door swung open, and the noise from the kitchen next door grew louder. Gaunt looking youth staggered in carrying two huge flagons of frothing ale. He delivered them to the table of the three men playing dice.

He looked quizzically at the Hound’s presence. Then wiped his hands on a cloth tied to a linen belt and stepped over to the table.

“Evening, sire. What can I get you?”

“Innkeeper spoke of chicken,” the Hound said. “Lots of chicken and ale.”

“We have an onion gravy and sweet potatoes to go with it,” the youth said, “Only a few coppers extra.”

“Lots of it,” Sandor dropped his money pouch on the table. It wasn’t bulging, but it was full enough to prove he had the means to pay.

The youth nodded before backing away, his eyes fixated upon the horrific scarring on the Hound’s face and then, as if he caught himself looking, he turned and scurried through the door to the kitchen.

Sandor leant back against the wall, shuffling on the uncomfortable chair as he watched the three men rolling dice. They were engrossed in their own entertainment and paying him no attention which the Hound liked. As always, Sandor weighed up their threat, recalling the Innkeeper talking about them being locals. It didn’t quite seem to ring true as one of their number had darker skin. A colour the Hound more associated with the South. But none of them wore the garish bright colours of Kings Landing or Dorne.

They weren’t fighting men either, Sandor could tell as much, but he also surmised they were probably pretty handy in a brawl. All three had thick shoulders and arms. A look enhanced by padded linen jackets. Their faces, covered by different coloured thick beards, were lean and weather-beaten. The type of men who spent a lot of time in the open doing heavy work.

The gaunt youth burst back into the room and quickly delivered a plate of chicken and vegetables along with a huge mug of ale to the Hound’s table. It looked and smelt good. The chicken, still in its fatty skin, was submerged in a thick brown gravy with generous lumps of onions. Sinking his teeth into the succulent flesh, Sandor delighted in the meaty taste.

As he ate, the Hound wondered what was keeping Arya. The image of the naked assassin in the bath with the fat boy fawning over her crept into his mind. She was a silly girl and didn’t understand the effect her lithe body had on those around her. Especially when she cavorted the way she sometimes did. He’d wanted to grab the fat boy and slap him around the face for the insolence of touching a lady.

But he’d imagined Arya’s reaction and couldn’t help thinking she was old enough and badass enough to look after herself. It wasn’t just that. He’d been in the bedroom thinking about her body. Remembering the way she’d looked bathing in the river and knowing she’d have been in the room naked. He’d come up with an excuse to see her. He hated himself for being so pathetic. Hated himself for not saying anything about there being only one bed and nowhere else to sleep in the room.

More than once he’d been about to open his mouth and say he’d sleep in the stables. Sandor had spent plenty of nights in stables when Inns were full. Yet each time, the thought of lying in bed with his arms wrapped around the nubile girl stirred his loins, and so he held this tongue. The Hound tried convincing himself it was to look after Arya and warm her after the horrible day’s riding. Protect her from the world like he’d done at Winterfell.

But who was he kidding? He truly imagined Arya clamped naked in his grasp while his cock penetrated her wet sex and his hands caressed her lovely tits. The very thought of spending the night with her banished all pretensions of a noble protector. He had the lustful ambitions of a selfish lover.

But delivering the shirt had revealed an ugly fat cunt with his eager hands all over Arya’s body

By the time the kitchen boy re-entered, the Hound had devoured the chicken and delicious onion gravy. He demanded more, throwing some coins on the table in reaction to the youth’s initial reluctance. Draining the rest of his ale, Sandor waited for a refill.

Arya was so naïve. At Braavos they’d trained her to serve the many-faced God. Turned her into a killer even the hardest warrior should be afraid of. But they’d taught her nothing about being a woman. Probably her most deadly asset if only she realised.

With a fierce and brash exterior, Arya had no compunction about slitting the throat of someone who she thought deserved it. Yet Arya was an immature lover; still exploring her sexuality as a male warrior would. Knowing that death could be around the very next corner and wanting to experience as much of life as possible.

The Hound had taken advantage of her on the wall. Done so because he thought neither of them would survive the long night. There was a time when he wouldn’t have given a fuck and shagged any whore drunk enough to let him. Arya was different. He’d spent time with the girl; seen her grow up for a short time. He knew that being around her had affected him.

His body desperately wanted to take advantage of her sexual vulnerability again. And it made him feel like a fucking cunt for even thinking that way.

Sandor used a second plate of chicken and another mug of ale in an attempt to assuage his guilt. When the door opened again, he decided there still room enough for more food and certainly more ale.

But it was Arya. She slid into the chair opposite.

“You bastard,” she said.


	9. A stubborn Hound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joining the Hound for some food Arya hopes for a romantic meal before bed. The Hound doesn't seem to feel the same way.

“Couldn’t wait for a lady to get ready, could you?” Arya said. She’d arrived using the kitchen’s not wanting to traipse through the common room in just a long shirt. She’d bumped into the Innkeeper coming back down the stairs who’d led her through the maze of small corridors until he reached the kitchen. He’d muttered his wife was finally getting up but what good would it do since all the hard work was nearly done. Most of the kitchen staff were too busy providing the final meals and cleaning up even to notice Arya sneak through. She saw the back of Hot Pie’s head as he busily worked cleaning plates.

“Haven’t seen a lady around here for a while,” Sandor said. He was mopping up the last of the gravy with his finger.

Arya looked at the two empty plates on the table and shook her head.

The Innkeeper came bowling in and hurried over to Arya.

“Sorry about having to eat in here. I know it’s like some store cupboard but what with everything going it’s the quietest place. I can get you some food if you want. I hear you took a real liking to our wine. I mix the recipe myself you know, the one thing we’re known for is wine and our pies. Not much else left I’m afraid as we’ve nearly finished up. Your man here has cleared us out of chickens.” Mr Turpin, the Innkeeper, nodded towards Sandor.

“Then wine and a pie it is, thank you.” Arya gave the innkeeper a broad smile. “I take it will be one of Hot Pies?”

“Oh, yes dear. He’s been a boon since he joined us. Works wonders he does, even when we have barely any ingredients and have to improvise if you know what I mean?” He suddenly looked around and lowered his tone. “I didn’t say that though if anyone asks. We use the finest meats most of the time. Like tonight for instance.”

“I know a little about improvising ingredients for pies.” Arya gave the innkeeper wink, but he had no idea what she really meant.

“Well, I best get one brought in,” Mr Turpin said. “He looked towards the hound again. “Anything more for you, sir?”

“I’ll have pie if there’s no more chicken.” The Hound also pushed his tankard across the table.

The Innkeeper scooped it up before he moved to ask if the three men wanted more to drink.

“When have you ever made any pies?” The hound asked. “Didn’t think the many-faced god needed pie makers.”

“I stopped by the Frey’s on the way up to Winterfell,” Arya replied. “Cooked a pie or two while I was there.”

“That was you was it?” The Hound smirked. “Poisoned the fuckers, I heard.”

“Could’ve been some bad meat.” Arya raised her eyebrows.

“Dirty fucking way to kill someone,” Sandor said.

“Like there’s a pleasant way. Maybe slitting their throats or taking their last money, so they starve to death.”

The Hound gave Arya a cold stare. “There are no good ways to die and no good ways to kill. There’s just the living and the dead. I like being one of the living.”

Just then the kitchen door opened behind Arya.

“Here’s your fucking boyfriend, or at least one of them,” Sandor said.

Arya didn’t turn around as Hot Pie approached the table. He delivered both plates sliding the meat pie to the two patrons. “I’ll get your drinks,” he mumbled.

“You going to be a cunt all your life?” Arya used the provided knife and violently stabbed the meat pie.

“Probably not much point changing now is there?”

As the drinks came, the Hound dived into his food with even more gusto. Arya gulped back her wine and tucked into the crusty pie. It was delicious, whatever meat had been used.

No one came to take the plates away, though the Innkeeper refilled everyone’s drinks, stating they would have to go through to the kitchen to get anymore. He muttered again about his wife having woken up from her headache and was stomping around, shouting at the staff despite her being absent when there had been real work to be done.

Arya sat watching the Hound, who seemed satisfied sitting and watching the dice players. A warm, relaxed feeling filled her. The mulled wine continuing to work its magic. The drowsiness creeping upon her threatened to send Arya into a comfortable numbness. She imagined they would soon go to their room. As Sandor had said nothing about their sleeping arrangements, they would climb into bed, and he wouldn’t be able to resist her once she rubbed her hot body against his bare skin. Especially as the look in his eyes showed his own consumption of ale.

Arya shifted on her seat. Crossing her legs, she relished the feeling of nakedness under the Hound’s shirt; almost tempted to slide her fingers between the gaps where the buttons joined and explore her damp sex. She wished he’d say something though. His glazed expression and silent pondering didn’t make for great company. The fact he spent all his time staring at the three dice players wasn’t exactly a turn on. Arya thought she might fall asleep if it went on for much longer.

“Do you want to join us?” One of the dice players asked. Arya looked around and examined them for the first time.

While they’d obviously been drinking, they didn’t have the thug-like looks of so many other folks she met in Inns. They all looked to be in their twenties despite short beards. And while Arya wasn’t sure if she’d had too much wine. She couldn’t help but see two of them, the tallest, were pretty good looking. Their shorter friend’s nose looked out of place and his eyes too narrow, like some villain from old Nan’s stories.

She turned back to Sandor. “You want to? Or should we go up to the room? It’s got to be better than sitting here in silence.”

“I’ve got ale, and there’s a warm fire. Good enough for me.” Sandor leant back and rested his head on the white stone wall behind him.

“Well, thanks a lot,” Arya seethed. He could be such a thoughtless bastard sometimes. Who was she kidding? It was all the time. But she wasn’t giving up so easily.

“Come on,” Arya said. She sipped on her wine and tried a seductive look. “We might actually have some fun.”

The Hound snorted. “Fuck fun. A bunch of cunts.”

“They’re just being nice.” Arya winced, expecting the three men to have heard and start some trouble. “Not everyone you meet is a cunt. Like me.” She gave him a sweet smile “I’ve just got one.”

Arya was sure she saw the Hound smirk. “That’s true enough. But they’re still a bunch of cunts.”

“Well, this cunt would like to have some fun,” Arya raised her eyebrows as she swilled her drink around in the wooden goblet. “And you shouldn’t be a bastard to everyone you meet.”

“No one stopping you,” the hound said.

“Just someone being a big cock.” Arya took a drink and glared at the scar-faced bastard.

“No cock stopping you here,” the hound said, closing his eyes.

“But it would be more fun if the cock played with the cunt.” Arya wasn’t quite sure where the words were coming from. She could imagine Sansa’s face if she heard her little sister speak such vulgar words. Even Jon would probably be shocked.

“Plenty of cocks in this place to play with.” The hound smirked without opening his eyes.

“I thought you said there were all cunts?”

“Cunts, cocks, all the fucking same.”

“Really,” Arya chuckled. “I thought you might have learned the difference by now.”

Sandor snorted. But didn’t offer a reply.

“We may be cunts, but we don’t bite.” Arya turned to see the blond-haired of the trio, the best looking in her opinion, holding up his drink with a smile. If they’d taken any offence to the Hound’s words, they didn’t show it. “If your man doesn’t want to play, you can still join us.”

“I’m not her fucking man,” the Hound growled. Arya felt like stabbing him with her fork.

“Just trying to be nice.” The man held up both his hands and supplication and went back to the game.

“Now you really are being a cunt,” Arya said and rose from the table. “What harm is there in a few games of dice.”

She was a little unsteady on her feet, but gripped onto her goblet of wine and stagger across the short gap before sliding into the offered seat.

“I’m Arya,” she said, offering out her hand, “and that dumb bastard over there is Sandor. Now lets see if you gentlemen can show a girl a good time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the great comments so far. They mean a lot and help motivate. :)


	10. A little dice. A little disappointment.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya decides to do a little gambling. But where has the Hound gone? Is he playing it cool or just a stupid c**t?

Arya watched the three men play. There didn't seem to be too much to the game. Gambling copper pennies on who would throw the highest number with a pair of six-sided dice. Sometimes they tried to predict what score one of the players would get, and each game seemed to end when one man had won all the coppers wagered.

While Arya couldn’t quite fathom why so many men wasted their days in gambling halls, watching them proved more entertaining than staring at the wall. Plus, the men were easy on the eye. Though Arya couldn’t be sure if her wine consumption warped her judgement

The three men turned out to be river rats, earning their living ferrying goods and people up and down the Trident. Two of the men had been born in the village while the third, Paris, was from Kings Landing. Paris had shoulder-length brown hair and a darker complexion than his companions. Narrow brown eyes peering from underneath a floppy fringe sometimes gave him a mysterious look.

Arya still didn't think he was as good looking as the golden head Taryn, who maintained this sweet smile and amiable persona even when his stack of pennies dwindled to nothing. The third man called Jacob, and the smallest of the three, sporting a tubby belly and barrel chest. He constantly stroked his black beard as if he was pondering every dice roll. The quietest of the three, Jacob would continually cast glances Arya’s way. Yet it didn’t seem about trying to get a peek of flesh like with the others. She thought him suspicious of her; as if she wasn’t welcome at the table.

Paris made up for his broody silence. More than happy to relate tales of the many places he visited while working on sea ships before he joined the other two scalawags. He lamented his decision, claiming he never realised it meant travelling so far north his cock was sure to freeze. The others taunted him about it not exactly being a loss to the world. Arya quietly thought it would be, wondering what it looked like as she sipped the last of her wine.

Soon enough Arya understood the limited variations of the dice games and they invited Arya to play. As it was only for pennies, she couldn’t see the harm, but when she looked around to speak to Sandor and get some money from his pouch, he’d gone.

“I guess I can't play,” Arya shrugged. Both angry at Sandor and disappointed she couldn't take part in the game. At Winterfell Septa Mordane had talked endlessly about the perils of gambling. Though more importantly, it seemed not to be something any sort of lady should get herself involved in.

If life had taught Arya anything, the things Septa Mordane warned them against were usually fun.

Jacob pushed a few pennies her way. He gave her a wink.

“Thank you, kind sir,” Arya said, trying to be ladylike as possible but realising she was probably slurring her words. “Could I also trouble you for a drop of your ale.” She held up her wine goblet and Taryn obliged. Filling it to the brim from their giant tankard.

Everybody pushed a copper penny into the middle of the table before they all had a turn throwing the dice. Arya won the first round, so the pennies were pushed her way. She won the second round too and soon had a nice little pile allowing her to pay Jacob back. He lamented upon his misfortune at losing every time.

They continued with some different games. Arya would win a few and lose a few, and she couldn't help getting giddy with excitement when she won. Even though the value of the pennies pushed her way wouldn’t buy a night at the inn.

After deciding on a final game for all the pennies, they suddenly seemed to get serious. Though Arya couldn’t really see there was anything other than pride at stake.

Soon Jacob and Paris were out of the contest having lost all their pennies. Arya and Taryn played against each other with her stack diminishing rapidly. When it seemed he was certain to win, he threw a five and offered her an outrageous challenge.

“All in.” He declared and shoved his stack into the middle.

Arya frowned. “But I haven’t enough to cover you.”

“That’s true,” Taryn grinned. “Then I’ll trade you. Each one of those buttons we’ll call a penny. If you win, you win the game and the stack. If you lose,” he dropped his knife on the table, “I get the buttons.”

Arya giggled. “That would be very rude. An outrageous thing to ask a lady.”

“He wasn’t asking a lady,” Paris chortled, “he was asking you.”

“Then I win the game,” Taryn shrugged and went to drag the pennies to himself.

“Not so fast,” Arya said. She picked up the dice and rolled them around in her hand. Of course, Taryn knew she was likely to beat his score, and though there was no real value in the bets, Arya still liked to win. If he thought he could outsmart a Stark, even if she was a little tipsy, then he was in for a surprise. “I accept your wager, good sir.”

All three men leant forward as Arya stood, shook the dice in her small hands, and pressed her thighs against the table to support her wobbly legs. She rolled the dice into the centre of the table.

When they rolled to a halt, they displayed two single dots.

Paris roared with laughter, and even Jacob was snorting, his round body shaking the table. Taryn lifted his knife and balanced it across two fingers before sliding it over the table.

“A wager is a wager,” he said with a broad smile.

Paris remained in fits of laughter. “Oh, I'm sure she doesn't really have to go through with it. No dishonour if she scurries off to her man.”

“A wager is a wager,” Arya declared in a haughty tone. She snatched up the knife and sliced the first button at the top of the shirt. As she moved to the next, her fingers fumbled the grip, sending the blade tumbling to the floor.

“Let me assist you.” Taryn beat the unsteady Arya to the knife, and while still on his knees he reached for her lowest button, easily slicing the thin thread underneath. Arya didn't resist as he quickly moved up to the second button and that too sprang away. Before long all six buttons lay on the table as part of the pile and Arya only had a leather belt wrapped around her waist to keep the shirt closed.

“Here's to a jolly good sport.” Paris poured some of it into Arya’s goblet. She sank onto the chair and downed the bitter-tasting ale, conscious of having to make sure the shirt top didn't fall open. Yet there was something arousing about how little she wore around the three men. Arya thought of the Hound up in the bedroom. Maybe he’d gone upstairs to wait for her. Had he left because he was jealous? Wanting her to go up to him and see if he was okay? She imagined him naked under the woollen blanket. Was he thinking about her right now?

“It's been a pleasant gentleman,” she said, “but there is a man in my bed waiting for me.”

The three men gave a cheer.

“Lucky bastard,” Taryn said.

“From the state of him, I wouldn’t be so sure,” Paris laughed, “We, however, can handle our ale.” The dark-eyed man down his drink as if to prove a point.

“Don't worry Arya, we’ll be down here waiting.” Even the normally silent Jacob chipped in.

“You underestimate my powers,” Arya said, and briefly flicked up the back of her shirt as she turned and opened the door. She wasn’t quite sure how much of her backside she’d naughtily flashed at the three men, but it had felt good.

Outside the room, she reached the stairs and stumbled on to her knees halfway up. While giggling, she chastised yourself for being so wicked, but at the same time determined that she was going to get fucked tonight.

When she found her room, Arya pushed open the door and blinked as her eyes got used to the semidarkness. A short candle on the side provided a weak flickering light as it burned low. On the bed she could make out the shape of the Hound. He lay fully clothed on top of the covers, his body taking almost the entirety of the space.

She jumped onto a small area of the bed that was free before prodding Sandor with her finger. He grunted, rolled onto his back, and began storing. She poked him harder. There was no reaction.

“Wake up, you useless bastard.” Arya shook him.

Even when she held his nose, he simply snorted and batted her hand aside with so much power it knocked Arya off the bed. Picking herself up off the floor, she wanted to spit in the miserable cunt’s face.

Arya needed another drink. Wanted somebody who was going to appreciate her. Anybody.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A girl has her needs.


	11. Show us your muscles boys!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back downstairs Arya see's if she can control the three men better than she could the hound. 
> 
> A girl has other skills it seems.

Arya didn’t close the door quietly as she left the room, though her barefoot stomping down the corridor wasn’t exactly loud. Eventually, she slipped back into the place where the three men were trying to work out how many pennies they could balance in a single tower.

“Look who’s back,” Paris said with amusement.

“What happened to the man waiting for you?” Taryn laughed.

“Bastards drunk and asleep.” Arya strolled over to her chair with as much control as she could.

“Big man like that should be able to handle his drink,” Paris said.

“And you are much bigger men, are you?” Arya said, shaking her head. She was still really pissed at the Hound.

“You got that right,” Taryn said. He rose from his seat and hauled off his linen shirt to display a bare torso. Squeezing his arms together in front of him, the golden-haired man demonstrated his muscular appearance. His actions caused Arya to do a double-take. Taryn stood tall with sinewy muscles tensed in all their glory. A lean physique displayed defined muscle tone down to the top of his breeches.

Arya raised her eyebrows and nodded. “Impressive.” She found herself saying while imagining what it would be like to run her fingers over the contours of his stomach.

“Ha, That’s nothing,” Paris muttered as he stood and stripped off his top. Arya eyed him with anticipation to see if his body matched his looks. She wasn’t disappointed as he tensed in the same, almost comical pose, as his friend. While Arya could see his muscles were not as bulky as Taryn’s, they were longer, leaner and more defined.

“And what about you?” Arya looked at Jacob. “Do you want to show a lady how much of a man you are?”

“I don’t need to,” Jacob smirked. “I’m about action, not poncey looks.”

“So, you’re the strongest?” Arya asked.

“Damn right.” Jacob sank another half tankard of ale.

Then, after slamming the drinking vessel back down on the wooden table, he rose and beat his chest with his fists. Jacob gripped his cloth jerkin and tore it apart to reveal his barrel-shaped torso. He might not have been as well sculptured as his better-looking friends, but Jacob clearly had the thickest arms and chest. Tossing the remnant of his jerkin on the floor he stood with a brazen defiance.

Arya noted the parallel scars running down Jacob’s thick abdomen from under his arms

“How did you get the scars?” She nodded towards his stomach.

“Bar fight in Braavos,” he said. “Got jumped down by the docks. Nasty footpads with knives. I smashed the fuckers heads in though.” He grinned while motioning with his hands to indicate crashing two skulls together. Arya could imagine it would have been an effective move.

Paris roared with laughter. “How many were there this time. Twenty or thirty, or maybe more?”

“Just six,” Jacob’s face coloured, and he sat down.

“He likes to embellish his tales every time he tells it.” Paris offered in the way of an explanation.

“I’ve got a scar too,” Taryn said.

“No one wants to see your fucking scar,” Jacob cursed.

“I want to see it,” Arya said.

“You’ll regret this,” Paris said.

Taryn turned and quickly pushed down his black breeches to reveal a bare white bottom. One cheek looked as if an animal had bitten it.”

“How many men did you fight getting that one?” Arya laughed.

“Just the farmer and his two dogs.” Taryn pulled his trousers back up.

“Stealing his crops?”

“His daughter’s virginity,” Terence said.

The other two laughed.

“I heard it was his fat mamma he caught you with.” Jacob sneered.

“I’ve scars too.” Arya stuck out her chin as she spoke. “Beats you fuckers.”

“Oh, yes. Let’s see them,” Paris said.

Arya turned and lifted her shirt up to reveal the scars crisscrossing her flesh. Of course it meant she showed most of her backside too.

“By the seven. How did you get those?” Taryn said.

“Training,” Arya replied. Much to the disappointment of the three men, she dropped her shirt. “A hundred foes at once.” The three men roared with laughter. “So, who is the strongest?”

Feeling emboldened, she stepped over to Paris and placed a hand on his bare arm before squeezing. His muscles instinctively tensed, allowing her to test their solidness.

“Felt better than this,” she giggled.

Arya reached over to Jacob who’d lain one of his thick arms on the table for her benefit. As she leaned over, Arya realised her shirt revealed more than was probably decent. But knowing they were ogling her body made her tingle with excitement, and the array of male flesh on display for her delectation created an intense longing between her legs.

“I think you need a contest to show me who’s strongest.” Arya finished examining Jacob’s solid arms which felt like fleshy tree trunks.

“Arm wrestling.” Taryn banged the table, and the others groaned.

“Yes.” Arya sat back on her chair and smiled. “Let’s see how big and tough you really are.”

“And what does the winner get?” Paris asked.

Arya pretended to think for a moment. “A kiss from these sweet lips.” She puckered up her mouth and giggled. Her own words shocked the female assassin, but after failing miserably with the Hound, Arya wanted to see if she could get the three river men eating out of her hand.

Even though they’d all drank a considerable amount of ale, the three men limbered up as though they were about to take part in an important tourney. Rules were agreed, and they got down to it.

Arya watched on as Jacob took on Taryn first, and though he had the thicker arms, his shorter leverage hindered his performance. Despite all Jacob’s grunting and sweating Taryn defeated him twice in a row. It was the same result when Paris took him on. Having suffered a double defeat, the barrel-chested man sat back in his chair, arms folded and looking thoroughly dejected.

Paris against Taryn was a much closer affair. Both won one bout each before giving it their all in the decider. Much to Arya’s pleasure Taryn came out victorious. As he sat and wiped the sweat from his brow, she leapt on his lap. Wrapping her arm around his muscular waist Arya kissed him full on the lips.

Taryn returned the kiss with feverish vigour. One hand encircled her slender waist while the other slipped underneath Arya’s shirt and cupped her pert breasts. Her nipples hardened instantly. She was already aroused by the sight of three muscular men competing over the chance to kiss her.

“I demand another contest,” Jacob announced. Paris nodded in agreement.

Arya broke off the kiss and turned to look at the others. She didn’t remove Taryn’s hand from caressing her breasts. Something the other two noticed.

“Muscular endurance?” Arya suggested. “How many push-ups can you do with little old me sat on your backs?”

A few minutes later, Arya found her arms wrapped around Paris’s body while she lay on his back. It had proved to be the easiest way. The many attempts where she’d tried to sit and balance on his back had seen her tumble hilariously to the floor.

Each time her shirt pulled further open until it barely concealed her chest. But she liked the feel when she pushed her tits against the naked back muscles as the three men sweated and grunted to perform the best.

Jacob proved the victor and Arya jumped onto his solid thighs before sampling his kiss. He was a lot rougher than Taryn, both with his kissing and groping. His hand swept inside her shirt and greedily grasped at her breasts. The pinching of her sensitive nipples might have been painful, but Arya felt a wetness between her legs. Tempted to press her fingers into her sex, Paris distracted her.

“Do you have another challenge for us?” Paris looked keen to get his own turn at fondling Arya and probing her mouth with his tongue.

She jumped off Jacobs’s lap and turned to rest her hands on the table. A move which shamefully revealed both breasts.

Arya smiled as a wicked thought popped into her head.

“Let’s see who has the biggest cock.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the great comments and Kudos. I'm glad people are enjoying the story. I'll keep trying to keep up a chapter a day.


	12. Naughty, Naughty, Arya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not much to be said really. Shocking behaviour all round!!

It took a few moments for Arya to realise she’d just spoken those words out loud. The faces of the three men looked shocked. Jacob was the first to recover.

“What does the winner get for this challenge?” he said.

Still not quite sure who was controlling her actions, Arya undid the belt around her waist and slipped the Hound’s shirt off her shoulders.

“Me,” she said.

There was probably nowhere else in Westeros that night where three pairs of breeches and three sets of underclothes dropped to the floor with the same speed with which the three-river achieved. Before Arya’s discarded shirt had floated to the floor. Three manhoods flopped onto the table. Arya’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. Her stomach tightened in anticipation.

“And how shall we measure?” Paris folded his arms, his hips thrust forward as if trying to emphasise his size.

“My hands,” Arya almost whispered, her breath rapid and heart hammering. Aware of the wetness between her legs, she wondered if the others could see her excitement

Paris was closest, and he too stood more upright, thrusting his member out as of trying to make is already stiff appendage seem longer. Arya reached down and gripped his cock by the base, feeling it harden under her soft grip. Her other hand also encircled the fleshy shaft until only the bulbous end could be seen.

“I wager you’d like the feel of that inside you,” Paris said. His hand slipped between Arya’s bare legs and grabbed her sex. She felt his fingers rub roughly against her wet lips and she moaned, parting her legs further, and not resisting his touch. “By the gods, you are a feisty one.”

“Me next.” Taryn looked as if he was salivating as Arya moved around the table. Carrying out the same hand actions it became clear Taryn might have the looks, but his cock wasn't as big as his friends. However, the golden-haired man had a generous squeeze of Arya’s firm bottom while she concentrated on the measuring.

Jacob’s manhood intrigued Arya. She stepped beside him, and it appeared only semi-hard but still matched Taryn’s in length. Reaching over, she gripped the base and almost instantly his cock responded to her touch. As it stiffened dramatically, Arya's eyes glistened with excited astonishment. Placing her second-hand on top of the first there was still a dramatic length visible, forcing her to measure again.

“Two and a half hands” Arya rubbed the tip with her thumb, delighting in Jacob’s moaning. It felt as if she could command him to do anything so long as she continued to stimulate his manhood.

“Small in stature, big in cock,” Paris laughed.

“This is the one you want inside you,” Jacob growled.

“It does seem to be the winner,” Arya said, “so I should give it a little kiss of congratulations.”

Arya didn't have to bend far before her lips could wrap around the bulbous tip of Jacob’s cock. She allowed her tongue to dance over the foreskin and wiggle at the very tip of his penis, listening with satisfaction to Jacob’s groans of pleasure. Giving it a quick suck, Arya turned to the other two.

“And I suppose I should thank all those who took part.” She stretched her naked body across the table. Arya’s hands gripped the wooden edges as Taryn pushed his erect manhood toward her. Letting her mouth slide down the end of his shaft, Arya marvelled at the different feel from Jacob’s. Even the taste differed, Taryn’s having an almost spicy tang as she allowed her mouth to go down and swallow; just to see what it was like.

Just as she broke away and Arya suddenly felt his cock throb. She pulled her head back and saw Taryn squirt his cum across the table.

“Fuck,” Taryn exclaimed. The others roared with laughter and hurled insults at his pathetic performance. He went bright red before leaning down to pull up his trousers.

Ignoring the banter, Arya’s mouth engulfed Paris’s manhood. She had to stretch further across the table to reach. Something Jacob took advantage of. His hands grabbed her bottom. First groping her pert behind. Then easing her legs apart as Arya started to suck greedily on Paris's cock. Paris grabbed the back of her head, holding her in place so he could thrust deep into her mouth.

Her body tingled with anticipation over what was to happen next. The heat between her legs was more intense than it had ever been. Arya felt like some wild, unbridled animal. A dire wolf cavorting in the forest only caring about its base desires.

Even as slick as her sex was, it took Jacob half a dozen powerful thrusts to fill her with his cock. Arya felt her cunt stretch to accommodate his girth. Simultaneously painful and intensely arousing.

Her insides were on fire. Every part of her body felt super sensitive, dancing with an erotic pleasure as two cocks drilled her from both ends.

As if in the distance, Arya heard the kitchen door open, and there was a brief moment of sanity she realised with horror it could be the Hound or even Hot Pie walking in on her sordid activity.

Paris let go of her head and began to withdraw while Jacob obliviously pumped her from behind.

“What in the seven hells is going on here?” A woman’s voice thundered.


	13. A reddened behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being so rudely interrupted, Arya faces a foe she has no idea how to best!!

The cock vanished from Arya’s sex in an instant as the woman with a loud voice stomped over to the table.

“You boys should know better. You know I can’t stand whores in this Inn. And as for you, young lady.”

As Arya tried to push herself up from a somewhat vulnerable position, a large hand grabbed her by the ear, hauling her violently upright. Squealing with pain, Arya thought for a moment her ear would be yanked off. Regained her feet, she saw a huge woman with a round red face filled with disgust. As tall as Brianne, but twice the width, she looked a formidable figure. The two men stumbled backwards and pulled up their breeches as the woman railed upon Arya.

“Mrs Turpin, it’s not what it seems.” Paris tried to say, but he was clearly intimidated by the Innkeep’s wife.

“It is exactly what it seems, young Jacob. A dirty little slut whore trying to make money in my Inn by spreading her legs for anybody who’ll pay.” She gave Arya’s ear another hard tug. “Either you’ve never heard of what I do to girls like you, or you’re very, very idiotic.”

Mrs Turpin’s awkward hold bent Arya double. The sudden violent movement had made Arya’s head go all woozy and legs wobble; the copious drinks messing up her ability to respond.

About to protest, Arya found herself dragged along by her ear. She grabbed the woman’s wrist and desperately attempted to peel the thick chubby fingers from their painful hold.

“You’re out of here right now, whore.” In a few strides, the Innkeeper’s wife had pulled Arya to the kitchen door, and after throwing is open she stomped through the kitchen. A rather startled middle-aged cook, sat enjoying a drink after his long night’s work, watched the scene unfold with an open mouth.

Arriving at another door, Mrs Turpin let go of Arya’s ear, but before the teen could react, the huge woman wrapped her arm around her captive’s waist and hoisted Arya into the air. The young assassin found her bottom pointing upwards and legs flailing.

“Don’t you ever bring your whoring body into my house again. Do you hear me?”

“I’m not a whore,” Arya gasped, trying to get some purchase with her hands on the floor. The half upside-down position suddenly making her feel very sick.

“Yes.” Mrs Turpin thundered.

WHACK!

“You.”

WHACK!

“Are.”

WHACK!

Stinging agony blasted Arya’s exposed backside as Mrs Turpin’s massive hands smacked her bottom with each word. Arya tried to protest, but a mere squeaked emerged as the woman delivered more mighty slaps to various parts of her captive’s behind.

“You.”

WHACK!

“Are.”

WHACK!

“A.”

WHACK!

“Dirty.”

WHACK!

“Little.”

WHACK!

“Whore.”

WHACK!

Arya squealed in agony as Mrs Turpin unloaded heavy fire onto her posterior. The humiliation adding to the horror of the incredible position she found herself in. Intense pain flared all over her behind, giving her the feeling it was on fire.

“Do.”

WHACK!

“You.”

WHACK!

“Understand.”

WHACK!

“Me?”

“Yes, yes, I do,” Arya shouted. “I’m sorry.” Though she had nothing to apologise for, she hoped it would be enough for the innkeeper’s wife just stop thrashing her bare posterior. All the fighting training they’d given her had failed to prepare her for a large woman intent on spanking the seven hells out of her naked behind.

Mrs Turpin took two more steps to the back door, opened it and then bodily hurled Arya out into the rain before slamming the door behind her.

Arya landed on the floor and attempted to roll onto her feet. But lacking the full use of her faculties, Arya slumped onto her knees. The rain was beating down heavier than ever. Huge droplets stung her naked flesh; though it provided some cooling for the fire raging on her behind. Arya clambered to her feet, rubbing both butt cheeks furiously. Her head span with both the drink and the shock of what had happened.

“Fuck this.” Arya jumped up, took a breath to clear the head rush, then ran to the door and started hammering on it. “I’m a fucking paying guest.” She screamed. “I’ve got a room.”

The door swung open, and the huge woman filled the doorway, her arms folded across a mighty bosom. “Yes, a room so you can spread your legs and invite anybody who will pay you a copper no doubt.”

“I’m Lady Stark of Winterfell.”

Mrs Turpin let out a roar of laughter. “And I’m Queen fucking Cersei. You better run back to whatever hole you came from before I get my leather strap. Because if I see you one more time, it won’t just be that backside the stinging. You won’t be fucking any customers for a month.” She stepped back and slammed the door again.

Mad and in pain, Arya wanted to drum on the door, furious at the injustice.

Stepping back from the doorway, she checked the surroundings. The main Inn door off to her left swung open, and a group of men and women staggered out while attempting to sing some Saltpan song.

“Shit, look at this.” One of them shouted. He had his hairy arm around one of the woman’s waist, but it didn’t stop him ogling the naked flesh stood in the rain.

Another man, who’d been about to take a piss right outside the Inn, hesitated. He then smiled and thrust his groin towards Arya.

“You look like you want some fun,” His words were slurred.

“Show her a good time Jorgen.” One woman said as the whole group move towards Turning, the naked girl sprinted around the corner of the Inn, but her unsteady feet slipped upon the wet flagstones causing her to tumble to the floor. Arya sensed hands reaching out to take her, and slid underneath them as she forced herself back on her feet.

Scrambling away, Arya made it around the side of the tavern and headed for a group of trees swaying in the dark. She shinned up the first trunk until there was a sturdy enough branch she could crouch on and hide from the drunk group

Heart beating fast, the rain still battered her naked body and Arya began to shiver. It took a lot of effort to prevent herself vomiting. The group only spent a few minutes trying to find their naked prey, and while one man lamented it was sad to see such an exceptional filly escape, the others returned to singing and staggered off to their homes.

As soon as they were out of sight, Arya bent over and threw up. She clung onto the trunk with all she was worth as her head felt as if it was spinning in different directions. How had she got herself into such a situation?

She willed her foggy brain to come up with a solution. Staying out all night would be fatal as her body was already covered in goosebumps and shaking under the onslaught of the heavy rain.

With her eyes adjusting to the darkness, Arya could make out the branch below hers stretched towards the Inn. Perhaps it gave her chance to climb onto one of the roofs of the nearest outhouses that leaned against the back of the Inn. If she could then find an unfastened shutter, Arya stood a chance. Using rainwater to wash the nasty taste of sick out of her mouth, Arya dropped onto the lower bough and began to inch along on her hands and knees. Avoiding the slippery moss-covered areas of the branch, she made steady progress.

Arya reached the point where she didn’t think the thick bough could take any more of her weight. She was also close enough to leap onto the crude wooden roof of the outbuilding. She padded along the wooden planks and found a stone ledge running alongside the edge of the Inn. It gave her shelter from the heavy rain for a moment and allowed her to take stock. There was a shutter too.

Arya tried to prise it open with her fingers, but it wouldn’t budge. As she leaned her head against hoping for some luck, Arya heard faint snoring from within. Snoring she recognised.


	14. Getting Hot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya needs some help getting warm and dry.

“Hot Pie,” Arya hissed, knocking on the shutter door. He might not be alone, but she had to take the chance. “Wake up.” She remembered he was a light sleeper but hoped she wasn’t being drowned out by the rain. “Hot Pie, please let me in.”

“What’s that? Who’s there?”

Arya banged as hard as she could on the shutter. “Let me in. It’s Arya.”

“Arya? What are you doing out there?”

“Getting fucking wet. Please open the shutter. It’s been a shit night.”

“Okay, wait.” After a brief pause, she heard dragging of wood on the other side of the shutter and swayed back as it pushed outwards. Arya immediately tried to climb through the gap. It was extremely tight and the only purchase on the outside was very slippery.

“You will have to help me in. Grab my arms and just pull.”

Hot Pie did as she said and his strong arms hauled Arya’s body through the window. Her breasts and nipples grated painfully on the wooden shutter frame as she scrambled through and collapsed onto the floor.

“You’re naked again,” Hot Pie said.

“Well spotted,” Arya climbed to her feet, her body wracked with shivers. “I’m fucking freezing, and you haven’t got a fire.”

“No.” Hot Pie wore a voluminous nightshirt that hung off him like a giant tent. Her body shivered uncontrollably, and Arya knew she needed to get warm quickly. Startling Hot Pie, she lifted the bottom of his nightshirt and dived underneath. Throwing herself against his body, she wrapped her arms around his belly.

“You’re freezing,” Hot Pie said as he took a few steps back in shock. Arya clung onto him, feeling the heat from its fat torso and wishing it was even bigger so her arms and body could be enveloped by thick folds of warm flesh.

“Rub my back,” she demanded, “I need to get warm.”

Her body was still trembling as Hot Pie’s tentative touch moved across Arya’s body.

“Harder, please Hot Pie I need you.”

“You’re naked,” Hot Pie stammered.

“And I’ll be dead if you don’t help me get warm and dry.”

Hot Pie started rubbing her with more vigour. Arya realised he was totally naked underneath the nightshirt. A solid object prodding into her belly.

“You see, it’s not a bad thing having a naked girl against your body.”

“I’m sorry milady, I can’t help it. This isn’t right. I’m just a cook, and you’re a lady.”

“Shut the fuck up and get me warm,” Arya hissed. “Or do I have to command you?” She moved her hands in front of Hot Pie’s belly and took hold of his cock. The heat from his throbbing manhood felt good. Arya’s other hand reached down between his legs, cupping his balls, allowing their warmth to penetrate her freezing hands. “All over Hot Pie. My legs and ass too.”

She felt Hot Pie take a deep breath before his touch swept down her lower back and onto her bottom. Using the shirt to dry the rain off her, Hot Pie had both hands squeezing her tight buttocks. His large body quivered; cock hardening in Arya’s hand. A moment later, solid flesh throbbed, and she felt warm liquid squirt on to her belly.

“Oh my god, milady. I’m so sorry.” Hot Pie stopped rubbing and went to back off, obviously forgetting Arya was entombed under the nightshirt with him.

She stumbled forward. “Don’t worry. It’s not the first time tonight.” She mumbled the last part under her breath.

They kept going back until Hot Pie stumbled against his bed. Poking her head out of the top of his nightshirt, Arya saw thick dark furs covered the bed. Probably why he had no need of a fire.

“I need your shirt to get dry.” Arya started pushing the linen garment up so she could get out of it.

“But I’ve got nothing on underneath milady.” Hot Pie whimpered. Though he didn’t resist.

“Then get into your bed. And stop calling me fucking milady.”

Hot Pie helped remove the nightshirt before diving under the thick furs. Arya immediately used the voluminous shirt to dry parts of her body still soaked with rain. And to wipe the sticky liquid off her stomach. She was still shivering, and Arya knew her body had to get warmer.

“Move over.” She dropped the shirt to the floor and lifted one of the fur pelts. Hot Pie didn’t move at first, but she gave him no choice as she slipped under the covers. Even as he shuffled backwards, Arya once again buried herself in his body, knowing that his warmth was the only thing going to make a difference.

“Wrap your arms around me and keep rubbing,” she demanded.

“Yes, mil… I mean, Arya.” Hot Pie arms enveloped her small body and began to rub the smooth skin. “Your legs. Wrap them around me.” The chubby boy did as ordered, Arya felt his manhood responding to her proximity. Bare hands on her flesh, Hot Pie’s continuous rubbing finally began to chase away the coldness from her limbs.

“Thank you, Hot Pie.” Arya stretched up and kissed him on the lips before tucking her head under his chin. She still shivered occasionally but knew the danger had passed provided she kept buried in a bed of warmth.

It was a few more minutes before Hot Pie broke the silence.

“Why were you outside naked?”

“I did something very stupid, and Mrs Turpin didn’t take too kindly to me being naked in the back room.”

“She threw you out?” Hot Pie asked.

“And then some. Apparently, she thinks I am a common whore and wouldn’t listen to anything I said as she smacked my bare arse.”

Hot Pie laughed, his whole-body wobbling, and it felt good to Arya with his arms wrapped around her. Different to Gendry’s solid muscles. When the blacksmith had held her, Arya had felt safe and protected. With Hot Pie, it was more like a giant hug from a close friend. Warm and comforting rather than sensual. Though she couldn’t deny their entwined limbs were naked and his ever-hardening manhood pressed against her. Not quite the position friends normally found themselves in.

“This place used to have lots of whores living here once.” Hot Pie said. “Then it would use to look after orphans until the Turpin’s took it over. Some of those kids still work in the stables and kitchen. Soldiers came thinking it was still like a brothel and expected women. She threw most of them out and don’t let any whores in here. The Innkeeper turns a blind eye as long as he gets a cut.”

“She didn’t even listen. Threw me out just as others were coming out of the common room. I had to hide in a tree outside your room.”

“Where’s the Hound?” Hot Pie asked. His voice sounded a little fearful as though he expected the fighter to burst in the room any minute.

“A fucking sleep. Where do you think?” Arya said.

“Oh,” Hot Pie said

“Yes, fucking, oh.” Arya hissed.

There were a few more minutes of silence.

“Don’t stop rubbing,” Arya murmured as her eyes grew heavy. “It’s nice.”

“Yes, milady.” Hot Pie whispered. Arya smiled as she felt the warmth of his breath on her ear. His large hands continued to rub up and down her bare back and now seemed confident enough to roam over the curves of her pert bottom and smooth thighs.

Arya closed her eyes, lulled by the heat cocooning her from the thick furs and Hot Pie’s chubby body. Drifting off, life suddenly felt good again. Her dreams were pleasant. Visions of happier times and of Winterfell before the long night. Firm courageous hands explored her body, brave knights whispered how beautiful she was and declared their undying love. Princesses frowned with jealousy and shook their heads.

Her body went from being warm to hot. Skin tingling under the touch of the mighty. Nipples hardening as tongues circled. Sex throbbing as fingers probed.

Arya’s eyes flew open, and she smiled. “Hot Pie, you are a naughty boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for the continued comments and Kudos. I hope I manage to keep you entertained.


	15. Under the furs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mature content ahead. If you find offensive please don't read.

Hot Pie stopped greedily sucking on Arya’s breasts, and even in the darkness she could tell he was looking up sheepishly at her. Though he didn’t move his hands from between her legs where fingers probed the edge of her sex.

Arya reached down as she parted her legs a little further and encouraged his fingers to slide into her ever-moistening sex and continue their exploration.

“I’m sorry, milady,” Hot Pie said tentatively. “It was all too much. Your body is just so perfect.”

“Do you want to fuck me Hot Pie?” Arya asked.

“Oh yes please,” he said breathlessly. Arya knew he was nodding his head while his chubby fingers, guided by her hand, began to rub more vigorously inside her.

“Well, I suppose I owe you for saving my life,” Arya said. She grabbed his head with her free hand, finding his chin to allow her to guide her mouth onto his. As Hot Pie’s lips parted to accept her kiss, Arya felt his tongue explore her mouth. His actions were clumsy and amateurish, but it excited Arya. She knew he hadn’t been with a woman like this before and being his first gave her a strange sense of power and erotic control. Still kissing him, she ran her hand down his body, fingers dancing over Hot Pie’s chest and soft belly. She found the squishy feeling almost comforting in its thick warmth before she reached his wide, hot cock that was clearly ready for action

She broke away from the kiss, moving her mouth towards his ear. “I want you on top of me, Hot Pie. I want to feel you inside me. I want you to fuck me.” While Arya spoke, one hand massaged his manhood while the other encouraged the movement of his fingers inside her.

Hot Pie wasted no time in clambering over her body. She assisted him by lying flat on her back and spreading her legs to allow his ample body between them as his manhood clumsily prodded at her sex. Arya reached down and with one hand holding his balls her other guided his engorged manhood onto the lips of her wet sex, rubbing the tip just inside.

His heavy breathing turned into moans as he strained to push himself further into her. Arya felt an incredible heat rising inside her as she teased both Hot Pie’s cock and her own sex for as long as she could bear. Arya then released his manhood and wrapping her legs around Hot Pie’s body she allowed him to thrust inside her.

She was so wet that he filled her with a single lunge despite the width of his cock needing to stretch her. Arya arched her back and pushing her hips up towards him while simultaneously pulling down with her legs, wanting every inch of his thick flesh inside her.

Hot Pie’s enthusiastic thrusting showed his inexperience, but Arya didn’t care as the feeling inside her was reaching its erotic climax.

His mouth descended on her round breasts as he sucked hard on her nipples.

“That’s it Hot Pie, ravage me you dirty bastard. Fuck me as hard as you can.”

Hot pie swapped nipple and began vigorously thrusting between her legs as Arya revelled in the feeling of his virgin manhood sliding in and out of her sex. She couldn’t resist any longer and let every ounce of a body explode in orgasmic pleasure. Arya felt her sex squeeze Hot Pie’s cock and the chubby youth shiver with painful pleasure. Her fingers dug into the soft flesh of his sides as she threw her head back and let out a low wail.

A few moments later, Hot Pie gave a final few thrusts before letting himself go. After the hot throbbing inside her, warm liquid squirted deep in her sex.

“Fucking hell that was brilliant,” Hot Pie panted, his face hovering over Arya’s.

She grabbed the back of his head and gave him a long hard kiss.

“Thank you for saving my life Hot Pie.”

The sweaty youth rolled off her, but Arya didn’t let him out of her grasp so easily. Burying her body within his arms, she once again felt the comforting warmth of his body against her nakedness.

Arya didn’t need to see his expression to know her friend had a enormous smile on his chubby face.


	16. Just a little bit more pleasure before breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does Arya wake up the next morning with lovers regret? Does she ponder the morality of her actions and if a Lady should be behaving in such a manner?
> 
> Or does she want more?

Arya felt strange waking to the sound of the birds outside while naked and nestled against another person. The comfort and warmth relaxed her limbs, and she’d been in a prolonged dreamlike state before she’d fully awoken.

Arya could feel the beginnings of a headache and a queasy stomach which potentially foreshadowed a less than pleasant day ahead. Allowing the memories of the previous night to flood into her mind, the edge was taken off the pleasurableness of the moment. Though with all the things Arya regretted from the night before, and there were many, she didn’t regret being Hot Pie’s first. He might not be the sort of brave knight most girls swooned after, but he’d been a grateful lover, had been happy to hold her as they fell asleep.

Having told Gendry a life as a court lady wasn’t for her, Arya mused on the idea. While no doubt being cooped up in a castle for days on end would drive her mad, the idea of waking in the strong arms of Lord Gendry held a certain appeal. But then again Arya wanted to explore more of the world, to feel the salt wind on her face as she crossed the oceans.

She glanced at Hot Pie lying flat on his back, cheeks wobbling as he snored. Could she see a smug smile playing across his lips? He’d kept whispering how wonderful it had been, and how wonderful she was. A far cry from the stench of death that would typically greet her after a kill.

Wisps of daylight penetrated the edges of the closed shutters. Arya eased back the covers before padding across the cold stone floor and gently released the wooden shutter and swing it open.

Fresh air breezed in through the opening and felt good on her bare skin. The rain had stopped. Fluffy grey clouds meandered across the sky as a light wind ruffled the branches of the tree Arya had hidden in the night before.

Another memory to make her cringe.

Arya could hear movements within the Inn. She sniffed the air and though there was a hint of cooking meat. Should Hot Pie be working? Perhaps she would wake him in a while, but didn’t want to spoil the quiet, pleasant moment.

The sun was still low and Arya decided to return to the warmth of the thick furs.

Climbing back into the bed, she pushed the covers aside, exposing Hot Pie’s body down to just below his waist as the youth slept. She eyed his semi-flaccid cock and giggled to herself. Arya couldn’t resist reaching forward and gently running her fingers across its length. His manhood stiffened at her touch. She watched him sleeping. The snores still wobbling his jowls. Her grip became a little firmer until his cock was completely erect.

As she sniggered to herself again, Arya couldn’t help wondering if she was still under the influence of all the wine she’d consumed the night before. Though she knew a severe hangover was imminent.

Leaning forward, Arya kissed the very end of Hot Pie’s erection before running her tongue around its bulbous surface. He still didn’t react, and her hand moved away from the shaft to cup his extremely hot ball sack, rolling the contents around in her fingers as her mouth descended further onto Hot Pie’s cock.

Her body reacted, nipples hardening and heat blooming between her legs. Despite thinking Hot Pie had satiated her hungry lust during the night, a yearning grew inside her for more. She pictured herself sliding onto his thick shaft and riding him while he slept.

Arya pushed her mouth down until the tip of his cock touched the back of her throat. It made her gag, but she still pushed a little further and marvelled at the sensation. Arya could feel her own juices were already seeping from her sex.

Astonished he was still asleep and gently snoring, Arya carefully climbed to her feet, standing either side of Hot Pie’s thick body before gently lowering herself until the tip of his cock pressed against her wet sex.

Hot Pie groaned.

“You’re awake, aren’t you? You bastard,” Arya chuckled.

Hot Pie’s eyes flew open. He gave her a guilty smile.

Arya grinned back as she teased the end of his cock by rubbing herself against the tip. The hotness of his member brushed against her bud, making her gasp.

“Oh fuck, that feels good.” Hot Pie’s body tensed, and he began to push his hips upwards, trying to thrust his member into her.

Arya pressed her hands on his soft belly, holding him down as she gently rode the very end of his cock. Swivelling her hips, she allowed it to rub against her most sensitive areas, and already her body reacted with orgasmic pleasure.

Unable to resist any longer, Arya lowered herself further and allowed his cock to slide into her sweet sex, marvelling once more of the glorious feel of the firm flesh penetrating her.

Hot Pie’s hands grabbed her round breasts, fingering her nipples and squeezing in a way that should have been painful, but Arya found even more arousing. She moaned and allowed his cock to penetrate her fully.

“You’re a bad girl, Arya,” Hot Pie said.

“Very fucking naughty.” Arya beamed as she rode his cock, and Hot Pie’s hips soon found a matching rhythm as they writhed together on the bed.

Sometimes his hands would grab her buttocks and squeeze her deeper into him. Then they would return to his rough groping of her breasts and nipples until finally, Arya felt the intense hot rush inside her body. She arched her back and let out a long low moan. Moments later, Hot Pie erupted inside of her.


	17. The Hound awakens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hungover Sandor goes in search of Arya. I mean what trouble can one person get into?

The Hound’s head pounded, and his throat felt as if he’d been licking a wolf pelt all night. Opening his eyes, Sandor groaned and rolled over, almost falling from the bed. It was so unusual to sleep on something so soft and comfortable. He’d expected to be pressed up against a stone wall or gnarly tree trunk.

At least he knew he’d slept pretty well.

Popping his head up, the Hound glanced around the room and noted Arya’s absence. It sounded as if the Inn staff were going about their morning business, and other guests were shuffling in their rooms. With the rain stopped they could get an early start. If he could find the stupid girl.

Her pack still lay in the corner. So, he doubted she’d gone without him. Had she ended up sleeping somewhere else? Or with someone else?

Sandor shook his head. He shouldn’t have left her alone with those river men, especially considering the amount she’d drunk. She might have slain the Night King, and could be a pretty cold bitch when she wanted to, but somehow, she’d still had a lot to figure out about life. Though the Hound pitied anyone who tried to take advantage of her.

Still wearing his clothes from the night before, the Hound rose and stretched his aching shoulder and back muscles. His body didn’t loosen up as quickly as it used to. Nor did it recover from ale as promptly as he liked.

Trying to shake the pain out of his head, Sandor opened the door and stepped out. He didn’t care if his heavy footsteps woke other guests. The smell of frying pork wafted up from the kitchens and made his stomach growl. One thing he always needed after being drunk. A big fucking breakfast.

He entered the common room and strode over to the corner where other patrons had gathered around the tables. A serving girl asked if he wanted the full breakfast platter. Sandor didn’t bother questioning its contents, instead taking a jug of water and heading to a free table.

Before he took his seat, Sandor noted two of the rivermen in the corner and huddled over their food. It looked as though they were trying to avoid eye contact.

“Where’s your friend?” the Hound said, stepping over to the table.

The two men looked up with bleary eyes and tired faces.

“Gone to get the boat ready,” the man with the darker complexion said. “Unless you mean the girl.”

“Not seen her since they threw her out,” his colleague muttered.

Hound raises eyebrows. “Thrown out?”

“Mrs Turpin caught her and threw her out into the night. Not seen her since.”

“Why the fuck would she be thrown out?” Sandor rested his knuckles on the table. The golden hair river rat gulped and looked him up and down.

“Because she was having a good time,” his friend said, seemingly unaware of the impending threat. “A real good time if you know what I mean?”

The other man sniggered, then looked serious and took a bite of his bread.

“You better watch your fucking mouth if you don’t want a length of steel in you instead of cunting sausage. If you know what I fucking mean?”

The olive-skinned man held both hands up in supplication. “Not looking for a fight brother.”

“And I’m not your fucking brother,” the Hound snarled.

The serving girl rolled through the door with Sandor’s breakfast platter.

“Mrs Turpin?” he asked. “She in? Or the fat boy?”

“Old Ma Turpin is furious.” The young woman whispered. “Hot Pie is probably still in his room. Right off the stairs third door. You better get to him before Mrs Turpin does.” She scurried off.

“What the fuck had the silly Stark girl been doing?” He muttered to himself as he strode back through the doors towards the stairs. At the bottom, he hesitated and then moved through the lower corridor to the room where Arya had taken her bath.

Her clothes were still laid out by the now extinguished fire, and the bath hadn’t been emptied. Sandor gathered her clothes, thinking he should have a bath sometime. But shook his head as there was a crazy girl to find and breakfast to eat.

Sandor went back up the stairs and soon reached the suggested door. Even from the top of the stairs, he could hear the moaning.

“For fuck’s sake.”

Treading the last few steps as lightly as his bulk would allow him, Sandor eased the door opened slightly and looked in.

Two naked figures writhed on the bed.

Arya was on top of the fat fucker, back arched as she wailed in pleasure. Doughy hands pawed her round breasts, and the youth’s flabby hips thrust upwards as he too gave a cry of lustful delight.

Sandor stood transfixed by the look of erotic desire on Arya’s face, and the sight of her round and strangely pink bottom bouncing up and down. He felt his stomach tighten, both dismayed and aroused by the spectacle.

He took a breath and forced himself to close the door.

“Stupid fucking cunt.” He cursed under his breath. Sandor shook his head and shuffled back down the corridor, unable to still his rapidly beating heart. She was dumb cunt like all the other dumb cunts he’d ever known, and he was a fool for thinking she might be different.

A large woman, puffing heavily as she ascended the stairs, eyed him suspiciously.

“Have you seen that stupid boy, Hot Pie?” she huffed. “Damn fool is late, and people are waiting for breakfast pies.”

“Just seen him in his room with some whore,” the Hound spat as he moved aside for the woman to pass.

The woman scowled and clenched her fists. “Why I bet that dirty little bitch hasn’t learnt her lesson.” She thundered down the corridor.

Confused, the Hound hurried down the stairs and returned to the common room to his waiting breakfast. Realising he still carried her clothes, Sandor chucked them onto the seat next to him and tried to purge the image of Arya riding the fat cunt from his mind. Had she done it just to get back at him?

And why did he give a fuck anyway?

Stabbing the meat on his plate and tearing into the bread, Sandor kept shaking his head and mutterings into himself. More guests had arrived for food, though the two river men had disappeared.

The Hound continued to attack his sausage meat. He heard shouting and a girl yelling. Was it Arya?

What the fuck is she up to now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope it still satisfies and once again tanks for the Kudos and comments :)


	18. Fear the InnKeeper's wife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a pleasurable start to the morning things get a bit messy. But Sandor will step in to spare her won't he?

A terrible pain invaded the moment of intense erotic pleasure. Arya felt the roots of her hair ripping from her scalp.

She tumbled over and looked at the startled Hot Pie, whose expression turned to one of horror and fear at what he saw unfolding before his eyes. Arya’s mind whirled and flipped, her body still pulsing with the orgasm she’d just experienced, and screaming at her there was danger and pain.

“What did I tell you last night you little hussy?” The booming voice of Mrs Turpin cut through Arya’s mental confusion. She collapsed onto the floor under the sheer force of the large Innkeeper’s wife’s yank, and she instinctively reached up to grab the hands holding her hair.

Arya felt her naked body dragged across the wooden floorboards.

“Mrs Turpin, she is not a whore. She is Lady Stark.”

“Hot Pie, sometimes your head is a thick is the dough you bake,” Mrs Turpin said. “Is this the way a lady behaves? Riding any cock she sees? She’s a common slut seeking to take all your coin.”

By the time Mrs Turpin had finished her little speech, she’d reached the door and dragged a wailing Arya into the corridor. Just as the naked girl began to gather her wits and think of a way to free herself, Mrs Turpin reached down and scooped up the petite teen. Once again, Arya found the thick flabby arms of the Innkeeper’s wife encircling her waist and leaving her dangling as Mrs Turpin hauled her down the stairs.

“You need to get in the kitchen right now Hot Pie. Or it will be you feeling my strap.”

Passing along a corridor, Arya realised she’d been dragged into the room where she bathed the night before. Just as she contemplated a move and grab a sensitive part of Mrs Turpin to free herself, Arya found herself unceremoniously dumped into the freezing bathwater.

“You’re a dirty whore and need a good lesson in being clean,” Mrs Turpin thundered, and Arya found her head thrust under the cold water. She desperately fought as the impact of the cold pushed the air from her chest. After what seemed an age, but was probably only a few seconds, Mrs Turpin let her up. But as she gasped for air, the large woman thrust something into her mouth.

It took a moment for the taste of soap to register as it began to swill around her mouth. Arya tried to spit it out, almost succeeding until Mrs Turpin’s heavy hand thrust the soap back in and covered Arya’s mouth before dunking her once again.

“You’re gonna chew that till it’s all gone, missy. Or do I have to keep putting you under the water?”

Arya had been about to spit out the soap rapidly melting in her mouth, but instead shook her head submissively.

Her body was shaking in the water as she was desperately trying to suck air in through her nose while still recovering from the cold shock.

“Just typical of somebody like you to take advantage of a soft boy like Hot Pie.”

Arya vigorously shook her head and went to open her mouth again, but felt a hand tightening over her wet hair and kept it closed.

From amongst her voluminous aprons, Mrs Turpin produced a scrubbing brush and immediately set to work on the unfortunate girl in the bath.

Arya felt the thick bristles roughly scrub her tender breasts and couldn’t help but scream which blurted a lot of the soapy water out of her mouth.

Mrs Turpin carried on scrubbing with the harsh bristles of the brush. Scraping the skin down Arya’s stomach and then between her legs. Arya tried to scramble as far back as she could from the offending instrument, but Mrs Turpin’s solid grip pressed her down. Even as Arya flailed her arms, desperately trying to claw the large woman’s face, Mrs Turpin appeared adept at avoiding harm. If Arya’s arms got too close, then Mrs Turpin would scrub even harder and thrust the girl’s head below the water. Eventually, Arya decided to save her strength and stop resisting. If getting scrubbed clean and hurled back outside was the likely outcome, it probably wasn’t worth fighting.

Satisfied with her scrubbing work Mrs Turpin wrenched Arya out of the bath and dumped her on her feet still dripping freezing water. Shivering and wishing she had Hot Pie’s furs, Arya wrapped her hands around her trying to get warm.

“I am not a fucking whore.” She tried to sound angry through her chattering teeth.

“Silence slut,” Mrs Turpin sneered. “I don’t want here anymore of your lies.” She scooped up the rest of the soap floating in the bath and forced it against Arya’s mouth. The girl tried to resist but felt her breasts slapped hard by the Innkeeper’s wife’s thick fingers. The resultant yelp gave Mrs Turpin the opportunity to shove the soap back in her mouth.

“This should keep it in.” Mrs Turpin plucked a piece of cloth from her apron before soaking it in the cold water, and it followed the soap into Arya’s mouth. It made it impossible to spit anything out.

Mrs Turpin plucked Arya off the floor once more and dragged through the corridors. Arya thought she was probably about to be hurled outside again. Mrs Turpin barged through the kitchen.

“Bring me my leather strap,” she shouted at no one in particular and continued on past the roaring fire until she burst into the common room.

Head aching from where her hair had been yanked out of her head, Arya wriggled and squirmed for all she was worth, beating her small fists against Mrs Turpin’s chunky thighs.

Once again, when about to reach for tender places that might give her some control over the large woman, Arya found herself upended, so her head and hair dangled just above the floor.

“I warned you what would happen when I next caught you,” Mrs Turpin said.

“Your strap, Mrs Turpin.” One of the serving girls handed a thick leather strap over to Mrs Turpin, and Arya found herself hurled against a table and spread across it. To her horror, Arya realised the common room wasn’t empty, and open-mouthed folk surrounded her table. Their quiet breakfast disturbed by a naked young female bent over one of the tables before them.

“I promised you the strap, and the strap you will get,” Mrs Turpin said.

Straightaway Arya felt the length of leather bite across her bare bottom. Her squeals of pain muffled by the soap and gag. She threw all the strength into her petite body, determined to break free of the grip at whatever cost. Arya managed to move enough, so the second strike with the leather strap half caught the table.

Mrs Turpin gave a roar of anger and lifted Arya up off the table for a second before slamming her back down and knocking the wind out of her.

“Try that again young slut, and I’ll let every one of these men have you before I throw you out.”

Another stinging blow across her bottom brought tears to Arya’s eyes. She twisted her head, trying to see how many people were witnessing her shame. While there were only half a dozen, her gaze locked on one solitary figure.

The Hound raised his eyebrows, giving her an enquiry look before lifting his mug of ale as though in some sort of salute.

Arya gave him a pleading look as more blows rained down on her rapidly reddening and burning behind. She desperately kicked out, trying to push the rag from her mouth so she could either call to the Hound for help or declare him an utter bastard for not doing anything.

“I think we need to tame these legs,” Mrs Turpin said. The next two straps slashed against Arya’s thighs.

“Remember what I told you?” Mrs Turpin bent down and hissed into Arya’s ear. “I warned you’d be taking no cock for weeks if I caught you again.” She then grabbed one of Arya’s thighs and pulled it upwards, which yanked her legs apart exposing her sex to an appreciative audience who appeared to have forgotten about the breakfast they were eating.

Then Arya felt the greatest pain she’d ever known as the rough leather lashed across the lips of her sex and curled onto her stomach. She tried to kick and wiggle once more, but with Mrs Turpin leaning against her back and having an arm hooking her thigh, she was virtually pinned down and struggled to breathe.

As another whack sent shudders of leathery pain throughout her body, Arya tried to force the rag out of her mouth. After the third blow, it came free.

“I am not a fucking whore. I’m Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell and a paying fucking guest, you stupid bitch.”

“Why you...” Mrs Turpin belted her again.

“She is right.” Sandor finally spoke. “She came with me.”

Arya felt Mrs Turpin stop as though she was about to assault her with another blow. At the same moment, the door to the kitchen flew open, and the Innkeeper came barging in demanded to know what was going on.

Mrs Turpin picked Arya off the table, and taking hold of her hair, showed her husband the naked girl.

“She says she’s a paying guest.”

The horrified look on the Innkeeper’s face said it all.


	20. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The repercussions of the nights events need to be dealt with.

“You’re not really Lady Stark, are you?” Mrs Turpin said. Arya could see the Innkeeper’s wife shaking,

“Yes, I fucking am,” Arya said. “By the seven Hells this hurts.”

Arya danced from toe to toe, rubbing her bottom and between her legs as she tried to relieve the intense burning left by the vicious licks from the leather strap. She was still in full view of the breakfast eaters who were intrigued by the turn of events.

“By the seven I didn’t know,” Mrs Turpin shook her head.

“I tried to tell you,” Arya shouted, “and Hot Pie tried to tell you. You wouldn’t fucking listen.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry milady, I am terribly sorry milady. Please forgive me milady” Mrs Turpin sank to her knees, looking genuinely terrified of the possible consequences. She looked at her husband, who shrugged and shook his head. Hot Pie slipped into the room behind the Innkeeper.

“And as for you,” Arya rounded furiously on the Hound. “Why didn’t you fucking do something you utter bastard?”

“I see the soap has done nothing for your language.” Sandor looked amused rather than admonished. “I just said something.”

“After she thrashed my fucking arse.”

“And I brought your clothes,” the hound lifted them from the chair next to him. “Just waiting for you to finish.” He nodded to Hot Pie.

Arya stopped her silly dancing from foot to foot and darted forward scooping her clothes out of the Hound’s hands.

“You’re still a cunt,” she growled. For a moment, she saw a flicker of guilt flash across his face.

“Oh my, oh my.” Mrs Turpin was still on her knees and flapping her hand’s up and down. “Please don’t kill me or burn this place down. It wasn’t my husband’s fault. I just saw you doing things with those men and Hot Pie and assumed you were a whore.”

“Well, I’m not,” Arya said. But standing in the middle of a common room, naked and holding her clothes and having to try to recall how many cocks she’d had inside her last night, Arya didn’t exactly feel virtuous.

“What can I do to make it up to you.” The large woman continued flailing on her knees. “Please don’t kill us, Lady Stark.”

The wretched woman clasped her hands together as though she was praying. While there was a great temptation to get Needle and poke several holes into the woman’s tubby body and breasts, Arya tried to calm herself.

“I’m not going to kill you. I don’t know what to do except to get dressed.”

The Innkeeper coughed. “We could waive the bill,” he suggested politely.

Arya glared at him and then almost laughed. At the end of the day it wasn’t his fault.

“And don’t say a fucking word to anybody about what happened here,” Arya growled. “If I hear one story or song about Arya Stark at the Crossroads Inn, I’ll be back and I’ll poke you so full of holes you’ll never stop the blood leaking out.”

“Oh yes, milady” Mrs Turpin prostrated herself on the floor. Arya couldn’t imagine she’d manage to get back on her feet without help.

“Not a word,” Mr Turpin said.

Arya turned and glared at the onlookers, many of whom looked ready to bolt as it appeared the fun was over. “And that goes for all of you. I can remember your faces and if you don’t want me to be wearing them one day in Braavos you better shut the fuck up.”

They all nodded and scattered from the common room.

“And you.” Arya glared at the Hound, who remained in place

“I fucking hate songs anyway,” Sandor shrugged.

“You’ll hate fucking more than songs when I shove Needle up your fucking ass.” Arya yelled at the Hound as she pulled on all her clothes.

Sandor looked at her and then down at his food, devouring the last of the sausage.

“You may have saved my life and given me one hell of a fuck,” Arya said, “but you’re a bigger cunt than Cersei.”

Leaving Sandor looking shocked, Arya stomped out of the common room trying to hold her head up as high as possible. Mr and Mrs Turpin still shouted their apologies and begged forgiveness, but it was really the Hound she was mad at. The way he’d sat eating his breakfast as the stupid woman had wailed upon Arya’s behind in public.

She’d only ever been nice to him and even sucked his fucking cock on the wall. And would’ve done it again if he’d have dropped his trousers and thrust it her direction.

Her anger hadn’t dissipated by the time she’d reached their room only to be confronted by a locked door. Stepping back, Arya summoned all her anger before driving her left foot next to the lock. A weak wooden panel gave way and allowed the door to burst open.

“Ahh, shit that hurt,” Arya yelped as the vibrations reverberated through her leg. She shook it off by stamping her foot on the floor

After retrieving the rest of her items and stuffing them in her pack, Arya pulled on her boots and headed back out. Just as she reached the bottom of the stairs, the Hound turned into the corridor to head up.

“You going already?” Sandor said, chomping on a wheel of cheese.

“What the fuck do you care?” Arya said, hauling needle from its scabbard. Pointing it towards the large scarred man.

“You gonna shove that in me girl.” The Hound enquired. He took another bite.

She lunged forward expertly poking the wheel of cheese with the point of Needle and flicked it from his hand. As it sailed through the air, she caught and then stuffed as much as she could into her mouth. She glared at the Hound before pushing into the common room.

The Innkeeper and his wife almost fainted at the sight of a female warrior charging towards them. Her mouth frothed with cheese and sword waved as if she meant to inflict some serious harm.

Arya was about to head to the front door and leave, but seeing the looks of alarm took a few steps in their direction.

“The next time a girl wants to be fucked in one of your rooms, let her be. If I hear of any girls or boys being thrashed by you again, I’ll show you what it’s like to have this poking into your nether regions.” She waved Needle ominously at the couple. The two clung onto each other and jabbered further apologies. Arya shook her head before striding towards the exit.

Sliding Needle back into its scabbard, Arya walked across the muddy courtyard towards the stables. On reaching the doors, she heard someone rush up behind her and span around, expecting it to be Sandor and ready to give him another mouthful.

“Arya, I’m sorry I couldn’t stop her.” Hot Pie wore a look of embarrassment. Though she noticed he held his shoulders a little straighter. The baker boy had become a man, and she felt her heart soften. After all, it wasn’t his fault.

“I know Hot Pie, and she won’t bully you again.”

“She’s not that bad really,” Hot Pie said. “It's not really the whores she hates. It’s the men that will take any woman of any age just because he wants to and toss them a few coins as though they should be grateful. So much bad has happened here in the past few years.”

“Then it’s the men she wants to thrash, not the bloody girls,” Arya said. “If you ever see Gendry you better not mention what you saw.”

Arya could imagine the two of them sat drinking ale. Gendry holding his sides while laughing at the thought of the large woman dangling Arya upside down and thrashing her bottom with the leather strap.

“Not likely to see him, am I?” Hot Pie said.

“I didn’t think I’d be seeing any of you again,” Arya said, “and here I am.

“Will you see him again, Gendry I mean?” Hot Pie asked

Arya’s thoughts were a lot calmer as she considered the question.

“Maybe,” she answered simply.

“I brought you something,” Hot Pie produced a cloth-wrapped bundle. “It’s a couple of pies. They are a day old, but there’s some bread, cheese and ham as well.”

“Cheese I’ve got.” Arya smiled as she held up what remained of the wheel she’d stolen off the Hound. “But thank you.” Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, Arya stepped up and gave Hot Pie a deep kiss, and she wrapped her arms around his waist.

“You taste of cheese.” Hot Pie giggled as they broke off.

“That’s not what a girl wants to hear.” Arya punched him in the chest. “Help me get my horse ready.”

“I should really get back.” Hot Pie looked anxiously at the Inn.

“Don’t worry about them. Come on.”

After saddling her horse and packing away her gear, Arya gave Hot pie another hug.

“Help me up. I’m still pretty sore.”

Hot Pie lifted her by the waist, and she swung her leg over. But the moment her bottom and thighs rested on the saddle, pain flared through her.

“Oh, fuck, that hurts.”

She tried to lift herself up in the saddle, but it only proved to be more uncomfortable.

The day would not get any better.

Arya swung herself off the horse and jump back down next Hot Pie. “I think I’ll walk for a bit.”

They led the horse out of the stable and towards the exit of the walled area around the Inn.

“I have got to go now,” Hot Pie said. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”

“Well, I might need a barrel load of moon tea,” Arya smiled. “But mainly, don’t forget me.”

“I don’t think that will ever be possible milady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed. There is a little more action to go. 
> 
> Shout out for prettprairie as I stole the barrelful of mean tea from her comment!!
> 
> Again thanks for the comments and Kudos and generally for reading.


	21. Regrets. I have a few.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hound reflects on what he saw.

Sandor packed up his things in the room before sitting on the edge of the bed and scratching his beard.

Arya was pissed, very pissed.

For all the Hound’s nonchalance regarding people's feelings, he understood why he’d fucked her off. He shouldn't have sat there while the innkeeper's wife had smacked the hell out of Arya’s arse. But having seen her riding Hot Pie’s cock and knowing she'd obviously got it on with some of the rivermen, he'd been pissed at her.

If she wanted to act like a slut, then let her be treated like a slut is what he’d thought. Not up to an old fucker like him to sort out her problems. When he had risen to intervene, it had been because he’d looked round to see the tongues hanging out of the other breakfast eaters as they watched a beautiful girl get her naked arse thrashed. What Sandor had seen on their faces is what he’d felt in his breeches when he thought about what it had been like buried deep inside the lovely girl.

Sandor knew she felt betrayed. But should he have protected her from the river men or even Hot Pie? After all, it pretty much seemed to be what she’d wanted.

“For fuck's sake, she’s a fucking assassin. Why do I have to look after her?”

He shook his head and climbed to his feet, his mind still in turmoil. During the long night, she’d fought against the undead like a rabid dog, even when they'd almost overwhelmed her. He remembered the moment when he’d hauled her out of danger while Berric had sacrificed himself to allow them to get away. After the red woman had spoken to her, Arya had sprinted off to fearlessly take down the Night King.

And yet he was feeling bad because he didn't step in when she took a few licks from the innkeeper's wife for breaking her rules.

Walking down the stairs, he recalled Arya being tossed around like a rag doll by the large woman before her bottom was beaten upon. The memory caused a combination of humour, arousal and shame. Perhaps he’d enjoyed a feeling of superiority after Arya had achieved so much. After all, Sandor was never likely to be dangled upside down by an innkeeper's wife.

Sauntering into the kitchen, Sandor demanded food. The innkeeper quickly gathered some together, adding a leather wineskinfor the road. He continuously protested his innocence about what his wife had been doing to Lady Stark, and how he hoped she would forgive them. The Hound simply grunted, took the food and wine and headed to the stables. With Arya’s horse already gone Sandor wondered how quickly he should ride after her. And if she would want him to.

And did he want to? Riding with the crazy Stark girl had only brought him aggravation. In fact, any time he’d spent with her had been fucked up. After she’d left him for dead years ago, the next time he met her, she demanded his cock.

And yet something kept drawing the Hound to her.

As he trotted out into the yard outside the Inn, Hot Pie came out to help unload sacks from a delivery cart.

“She ride south?” The Hound grunted, guiding his horse over to the fat boy.

“Sort of milord.” Hot Pie heaved a large sack off the cart and turned to Sandor.

“I’m not your fucking lord,” Sandor growled, “and what the fuck does sort of mean?”

“She can’t ride after what Mrs Turpin did.” Hot Pie looked as if he might bolt back into the inn any moment despite carrying a heavy sack.

“More like what you did, you randy cunt,” the Hound laughed and shook his head. “The rivermen, they gone too?”

Hot Pie nodded, “I think so.”

“Well, you better hope they ain’t got nothing. If your cock starts itching in a few days, you’d better get some leeches on it.”

Leaving Hot Pie with a startled look on his face, Sandor turned his horse and trotted out of the compound. At the gatepost, he paused for a few moments before deciding there might be something he could do so Arya might not think he was a complete cunt after all.


	22. Back on the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Sandor and Arya resolve their issues.

Arya heard the horse trotting up behind her and instinctively knew the rider without turning around. In fact, she point blank refused to turn and acknowledge his presence. Every painful step as Arya walked her horse along the muddy ruts of the kings’ road reminded her of the humiliation she’d suffered at the hands of the Innkeeper’s wife. Sore skin chaffed against her rough underclothes and tight breeches she wore.

At least the soreness between her legs had better memories, even if those of the three rivermen were a little fuzzy and embarrassing. But Arya’s head still pounded despite the fresh morning air, and she was no mood for Sandor.

She heard the horse’s hooves slow just behind her and walked for a time at her pace. Arya refused to acknowledge the Hound, though she controlled her breathing and prepared to defend herself if her instincts turned out to be wrong.

“I should have done something.” The gruff voice of Sandor said. “I’m sorry.”

Arya couldn’t help but turn around at his words. She raised her eyebrows. “Did the great Sandor Clegane just say he was sorry?”

“I’ll only say it fucking once,” Sandor nodded, “But I’m sorry.”

“Doesn’t that make it twice?”

“Fuck off.” He gave the merest flick of the reign and carried on at a slow pace. Passing Arya who’d stopped.

“Such a gentleman,” Arya shook her head and continued on her way.

“You going to walk all the way to King’s Landing.” The Hound said after a hundred yards of keeping the same pace in silence.

“You going to be a cunt all your life?” Arya retorted.

“You’ve used that one before.”

“Aren’t you the jester?”

“I’m not the one putting on entertainment.”

“Why are you here, Sandor?” Arya stamped her foot and confronted the Hound. “You just want someone you can fucking laugh at? Is that it? You want me to show you my red fucking arse so you can have a good gigle?”

“I’ve come to help. You can’t walk all fucking day like that.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Just as she finished speaking, the Hound leaned over and grabbed her by the back of her tunic. She felt herself hauled upwards before being dragged across Sandor’s horse in front of him. He grabbed the reins she’d been holding and tucked them into his saddle.

“What the…” Arya started squirming as she recovered from the shock of being manhandled.

“Stop you’re wriggling, I’ve got a fucking ointment.”

“A what?” Arya tried to turn her head but could only see the Hound’s thighs. He urged the horses forward, and they continued along the King’s road at a slow pace while Arya lay bent double in front of the Hound.

“An ointment. Old crone in the village said it would work. Hold still.” Arya felt his large hands grab either side of her breeches and haul them down.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Arya shrieked as she felt her underclothes follow.

“Not for your breeches but your arse. Stop fucking wriggling.”

“Then stop taking my clothes off.” Arya arched her back and tried to flip herself upright. The violent movement only resulted in her nearly pitching headfirst into the muddy ruts of the King’s Road.

“Hold still or I’ll drop the fucker.” The Hound forced Arya back into position before letting go again. While she contemplated her next move, or words to spit at him, Arya felt a cooling liquid on the reddened cheeks of her bare bottom. A moment later, his rough hand began to spread it around her fleshy orbs.

“This is fucking degrading,” Arya growled, but she stopped squirming as without a doubt the ointment sent a soothing wave across her inflamed skin.

“Then you should keep your breeches on more often.” The Hound laughed as he squirted the soothing liquid on the tops of her thighs.”

“Didn’t hear you complaining,” Arya muttered, but she enjoyed the feeling of her once painful bottom being gently massaged back to health by the Hound.

“Once it’s dry, the old crone said you need to soak your arse in the river. Got some left. Anywhere else sore?” The Hound laughed.

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” Arya squealed as he prised her thighs apart and thrust his fingers in between before smearing the last of the ointment on the lips of her sex. “You fucking brute.”

“Just trying to help.” The Hound pulled his hand away. “Needs to dry.”

“Are you going to let me down?” Arya could feel all her soreness ebbing away slowly, even the pain inside her, which demonstrated the power of the ointment.

“Old crone said it had to dry in the fresh air.” Sandor chuckled and urged the horses forward at a faster pace. “It still might be a little sore for a few days though, so I’ve arranged something else to help.”

“What?” Arya didn’t know whether to thank him or sink her teeth into his legs. Even when she’d been his prisoner, it hadn’t been as embarrassing as this.

“You’ll see,” he muttered. “If they keep their word.”

They carried on a while, and Arya found the relief so strong it became worth enduring being bend over in front of the Hound with her arse on display. The most maddening aspect was wanting him to massage her bottom cheeks some more. She’d even felt herself about to ask him before catching her own sanity and biting back the words.

A sound ahead attracted her attention. Arya tried to strain her neck so she could look. It sounded like horses. “Don’t you think you should let me up now?”

“Not dry yet.”

“What the fuck Sandor, there are people coming.”

“Then shut the fuck up.”

Arya frowned. She felt the Hound’s body go tense. He sensed danger. She desperately wanted to get up and get ready for a fight. Sandor’s hands rested on her backside, holding the reins as the sound of the horses came nearer.

“What you got there?” A harsh voice shouted as the riders came alongside. Arya could hear the familiar jingle of chain-mail and could see the bottoms of scabbards and spears from her point of view.

“She tried to run away with a fucking farmer's boy,” the Hound said. “Father wants her back.”

“You had a go yourself.” Another rider laughed. “Any to share?”

“Father said to give her a thrashing. She sometimes needs a reminder.” The Hound slapped Arya’s bare bottom, and she gave a yelp.

“Sounds like we should teach her a real good lesson, eh lads.” There were guffaws of agreement from what Arya calculated to be half a dozen or so riders.

“Only gets me gold if she gets back in one piece.” Arya could feel Sandor’s body preparing for action. She cursed her position but slid her left arm up, in between her body and Sandor’s thigh. She’d be able to grab her dagger if things got tasty.

“I don’t think you’re understanding friend.” The apparent leader of the riders said, and he moved right up to Sandor. “You might be a big ugly fucker, but we have you outnumbered.”

Arya could tell the other riders took those words as their cue to start surrounding the Hound.

“Well, maybe just a little go eh.” The Hound grabbed Arya and began lifting her up. His hand had a grip on the top of her breeches. Pulling them over her arse as he manoeuvred her. Arya took hold of the hilt of her dagger.

“Now that’s more like it.” Arya saw the gleeful look on the riders pockmarked face change in an instant as Sandor tossed her over to him and she drove her dagger underneath his armpit.

Combined with the throw, Arya’s momentum knocked the rider off his horse, and they both tumbled to the floor. The girl bounced to her feet first, driving her boot into his jaw before the rider gained his senses.

Sandor had already sliced through the neck of another and Arya saw him charging at two more. She screamed and ran at the nearest man, whose startled look on his young face made Arya think he was probably pissing himself with fear. Before he could bring his horse around and draw his sword, Arya stabbed him in the thigh.

His screech of agony and hard pull on the reins saw the black piebald he rode bolt off up the road.

Looking around, Arya saw the Hound had despatched another fighter and the rest and turned and fled. Their leader groaned as he clambered to his knees. Arya stepped over and sliced open his throat.

“You didn’t have to kill the cunt.” The Hound jumped down of his steed.

“He would have raped me without a thought.” Arya wiped the blood off her dagger using the man’s breeches.

“I know, but he could have told us what was ahead.” Sandor began going through the pockets of the other riders he’d felled. “Folks in the village spoke of outlaws fucking everywhere.”

“Then next time can I fight with my pants on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed and sorry about the delay. I don't seem to be able to keep the same pace as I could before.
> 
> Will updated soon though. :)


	23. Catching a Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hound manages to get them both a lift.

Despite the lotion rapidly reducing the pain of her backside, Arya decided to walk on a little way after the fight. She certainly would not go over the front of Sandor's horse again and get caught with her pants down.

"We need to head east," the Hound said.

"The Bridge and King's road is south."

"And soldiers and bandits. Got us passage on a boat."

"A boat?" Arya stopped and looked up at Sandor. "What do you know about boats?"

"We're not fucking sailing it; we can take the horses on it. We then ride down from Maidenpool. The road will be clearer. Some of us didn't waste all our time back there." He jerked his thumb back over his shoulder before indicating to his horse to walk down the east road.

Arya frowned, looked down at the King's Road going south and the Hound's back slowly moving away to the east. "Can it take us closer to King's Landing?" She shouted.

"Don't think so," Sandor didn't look back. "River barge."

While Arya would have preferred the quickest straightest route, she had to admit Sandor's plan held merit, and it would be nice to travel with no pressure on her backside. By the time they reached Maidenpool, she might be able to sit down without wincing. She'd suffered numerous bare bottom beatings during her training at her black and white. The faceless men had taught her how to deal with all manner of pain; of how to push it from her mind, to be above the hurt.

But the humiliation of being spanked in front of a crowd seemed to add an extra dimension of pain she couldn't shrug off. Though when she thought back to her bare backside being on display to the breakfast eaters, something stirred between her legs. Did she actually like people watching her naked? After all, she'd thought Sandor had watched her bathing and thought about him creeping up on her. And playing with the villagers had been fun…

"What are your thinking, girl?" Arya shook her head to shake away the lurid images.

Patting her horse on the neck, Arya turned and walked after the Hound, increasing her pace to catch him. He slowed when realising Arya had decided to join him. The morning wore on with a scorching sun beating down, and Arya regularly drank water as her head cleared. Feeling able to ride, Arya hopped onto her stead and the afternoon proved to be more pleasurable travelling as the trees thinned and one side of the road became more undulating. Arya finally felt as if the chill of the Night King waned inside her.

"Here," Sandor grunted. The trees gave way on their right, and a track veered off the major road to a wooden jetty where a barge sat in the water tied up to the tall jetty posts.

With the afternoon sun beating down, and no breeze to freshen hard workers, Arya saw one man stripped to the waist and stood on the river bank by the side of the boat as he scraped off various freshwater molluscs clinging to the wooden hull.

On hearing the horses trot along the boards built into the riverbank, the man turned and grinned at Arya.

"Didn't think you were coming," the man said, "we need to get going for a few hours of river time before night."

"We're here now, aren’t we?" Sandor swung his leg over his horse and hopped onto the floor. "You sure horses will take to it?".

"We move a lot of livestock," the man nodded.

"What’s going on here?" Arya remained on her horse as she watched the bare-chested man haul himself or the side of the barge.

"These lands are teeming with fucking outlaws," Sandor adjusted the harness, reassuring a horse that seemed instinctively to know they'd be riding the barge and didn't seem keen on the idea. "These gentlemen offered us a lift down the river."

"Very kind of us, I thought." Jacob puffed out his well-proportioned chest and edged down the side of the gangway to a central part of the boat already filled with crates and barrels being transported down the river.

"They offered?" Arya said.

"Yes, it didn’t seem much of an offer to me," Paris emerged from the bunkhouse at the front of the barge followed by Taryn giving Arya a grin as he stepped up to the side of the boat and adjusted the cloth tunic over his muscular torso.

"Beats riding." The Hound led his horse towards the barge. Jacob stepped over to make sure the planks crossing the river were close enough, so the horse didn’t have to see the water beneath and get nervous. "Thought you'd be pleased. You were friendly enough last night."

Arya felt her face flush as the other men avoided eye contact. However, Paris stepped off the boat towards Arya’s horse.

"Where these boys will drop us off," Sandor said as he stepped onto the gangway, his horse following obediently. "The Lannister's will be so concerned about the army heading their way they'll not bother about two fuckers on a different road."

Arya couldn’t fault the Hound’s logic, but neither could she ignore the furtive glances from Jacob as he stepped up to her horse. She shook her head and swung her leg over the saddle, dropping onto the floor and couldn’t help notice his muscles glistening with sweat under the hot afternoon sun. As he adjusted her horse's bridle, Arya remembered the feeling of Jacob's thick cock inside her.

The young woman tried once again to shake off lascivious thoughts as she retrieved the saddlebags and backpack from a horse. She stepped onto the wide, low barge, allowing Jacob to guide her right onto the boat. They’d already created the space for the two horses using crates, barrels and sacks to form a barrier the horses could stand inside. Taryn produced hops in tatty wooden buckets the horses attacked with gusto.

"Will make a few hours tonight before heaving-to," Paris said. "We’ll reach the saltpans by nightfall tomorrow and Maidenpool two nights after."

"Boat life can be boring," Jacob said. "But don't worry, I've got my dice."

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it so far. Please let me know if you want me to go on with Kudos and any comments.


End file.
